Chapter 39: Casa di Zabini
"Alta vendetta
D'alto silenzio è figlia."*
Vittorio Alfieri
The four remaining high-level Death Eaters from the original crew found their Dark Lord face down on what remained of the Great Hall after the castle died. They had heard him screaming once more. They hardly knew if the screams were of pain, frustration, anger, or a combination of all. What they knew with certainty was that they wanted to leave the castle. That was why many Pureblood families usually taught their kids to see magic as energy, not necessarily light or dark. Magic, they thought, was all about intent, inner power, and self-control. And yet, a dead Hogwarts felt all sorts of wrong even to them.
To the younger Death Eaters, former Hogwarts students, it was painful. No matter its many faults and flaws, Hogwarts had, at some point, been their home away from home. They grew up among the stone walls. They learned magic in the classrooms. They met their friends there. They had their first crushes, their first kiss, and some even their first time. Very little was left of the magnificent towers. Now, Hogwarts was an echoey, crumbling mausoleum. It was once a beautiful, albeit outdated, castle full of humming magic, spirits, ghosts, and creatures. It was now a lifeless building: stone, dust, and debris.
Gone were the once stunning stained-glass windows, sturdy desks, workbenches, classrooms, and blackboards. Gone, too, were the books. The furniture was broken. The House emblems and flags had long been removed during the Carrows' reign and replaced with skulls and bones in honor of Lord Voldemort and his reign of terror. Hogwarts looked like a haunted house. Except there weren't any ghosts of poltergeists to haunt anyone anymore. And yet, something felt entirely wrong. The energy was dark, angry, stifling. They felt watched and followed constantly.
The thing about silent places is that the quieter it gets, the more eerie things become. Silence forces you to become hyperaware. Any shoe that steps on rubble makes a resounding crack as the rubble crushes underneath it. Any whisper sounds like a yell. Any howl of the wind sounds terrifying. Silence forces you to listen to your innermost thoughts, and for people who have done so many bad things to others, people who are dragging the energies of all the people they killed and tortured… their conscience wasn't the best companion.
Regardless of the general sense of unease, the Death Eaters levitated Voldemort to the -somehow- still standing high table where professors had once shared mealtimes with hundreds of students. The enchanted ceiling had partially collapsed. What were they supposed to do now? They had chosen to follow Voldemort because he was the strongest wizard alive, but now… was he? The Dark Lord seemed like an empty shell of himself. They began sharing concerned looks as he remained unconscious. If things continued like this, he would lose all support quickly.
When they were about to start shoving potions down his throat, he opened his snake-like eyes suddenly and sat up in one smooth motion; the four Death Eaters protecting him from prying eyes jumped back. "Incoming attack!" he roared.
"Sir?" Everyone looked around, confused. They couldn't hear or see anything.
He grunted as he sat up, pointing, "They are flying in! Fight them! Kill them!"
"What the fuck happened to the dementors?" a death eater yelled as he looked up and saw no hooded figures guarding them from above.
After twenty minutes of grueling fighting with flying menaces, a Death Eater could barely reach Riddle and, pressing his dark mark to warn the other masked figures, apparated him away by what was left of the Quidditch pitch. As they flew away from Hogwarts, Viktor-Harry, with his blasted shoulder, signaled to a distant Longwei, and after making sure the fliers had all passed the minimum distance of the blast, he pressed the switch, and all the bombs went off simultaneously.
Riddle struggled to get up even with help. "Rowle! W-We must go to the s-secondary location…"
"Yes, at once."
"Is it r-ready?"
"Yes, sir," Rowle knew better than to admit it wasn't ready because the family hoped it would never have to house Voldemort.
"Let's go," he grunted.
As they left, Riddle saw with absolute horror and shock how military planes approached and dropped even more hellfire from above. By the time they would be done, the island would be destroyed. Not even the forest would survive the inferno.
"What the fuck was that?!"
"Muggle warplanes."
"WHAT?! No way. They wouldn't know where to find us."
"Potter does. He must have somehow managed to involve the muggles in this."
"FUUUUUUCK!"
Carlo Zabini was a strong man. He had been a boxer in his youth. His square shape and his lightness of foot had helped him a lot in all sorts of fights. He could handle pain better than most. Physical pain, that is. When he met his beautiful Isabella, he thought he saw an angel. Carlo was raised a devout Catholic, as was his wife. Their parents (wizards and witches) didn't see any conflict in religious beliefs coexisting with magic somehow. They believed that God didn't give the gift of magic to all humans because if everyone could do magic… the devil would tempt them and make them use their powers against their brothers and sisters.
As a child, Carlo was always amused that the religious babbanos didn't see their own rituals for what they were—another form of witchcraft. How many people failed to see the similarities baffled him. Believers trusted that Holy water had special properties that could heal, cleanse, and even cast out spirits. Carlo had Holy Water applied to his injuries, and his parents prayed over it. Even when they could simply use a spell, the water and the prayer made him feel better. He never wanted to test and find out whether it was wishful thinking, placebo effect, or real effects of the blessed water.
Believers would pray before a cross displaying a man in agony. They would pray to a Saint, an Apostle, or even a Martyr for their intercession. They would sing and dance around an altar in special ceremonies. They would wear medals like the famous San Benito's medal for protection. They would recite the same words repeatedly in a specific order. They would do certain motions for certain parts of their prayers. They would gather to read from a Holy Book and use it to guide their lives. It shaped morality, ethics, and society, and in some places, it even informed the laws of a country. Catholics would take the transustanziato 'Body of Christ' and drink 'His blood' [transubstantiated*]. They believed they were eating the body and drinking the blood of Christ. And still, somehow, that wasn't cannibalism, apparently.
They had chants, prayers, and lines that they repeated during Mass, while praying the Rosary, in baptisms, funerals, etc. It went all the way to the most minuscule detail. The prayer beads needed to follow a specific structure to be proper Rosary beads. They had holy objects. They had relics. They were devout to different Saints that they prayed to for specific reasons. Many believed that San Gaetano would help them get work. They would gather seven twigs and tie them up with a yellow ribbon as an offering. Some swore that the candles lit for him had to be white and burn at noon on Saturdays and Sundays.
San Antonio di Padova could get you a significant other. Some people thought that you needed to offer him thirteen coins. Others believed you had to tie him up and put him upside down for the request to be fulfilled. Carlo thought at least that bit had to be witchcraft for sure. Imagine the arrogance. 'Listen, San Antonio, you either do this, or I will essentially torture your likeness until you give in and get me a partner.' How is that a good idea? Isabella had once told him that she thought -were she the saint- she would find the worst possible person for someone who had tied and hung him for days on end for the sake of loneliness.
Regardless of his doubts and reasonable questions, Carlo Zabini chose to do as his parents did and attend Church. It gave him peace, somehow. It soothed his spirit. He had never prayed as hard as he did during the takeover of Hogwarts. He prayed to find his son before any other Death Eaters did and save him. His prayers hadn't been heard. He supposed he deserved that. He had made a deal with the devil and was now paying the consequences. He had found his eviscerated son by the destroyed Green House. He had a small piece of paper crumpled in his fist. It read: "Hail Mary? Contact D through NS." Carlo knew D was Draco Malfoy. The boys had always called each other by their initials. It took Carlo and his distraught wife a week to figure out the other initials. It was Newt Scamander. He had been held at Malfoy Manor for a while. He knew where Draco was and had a way to get in touch.
Isabella had managed to find the Magizoologist at his new address through some contacts her family had in MACUSA. Soon enough, they were exchanging cryptic messages back and forth with their son's friend. He offered a way out and a possibility to survive this war. Isabella didn't really want anything but revenge. Once she felt they got it, she would happily die. Carlo didn't see the point in living in this hellscape either. Isabella insisted that the Lord punished them for supporting Voldemort and that they would only know peace once they died. Carlo was inclined to believe her. Their business dealings had gone south quickly. Voldemort had bled out their finances instead of earning them the mountains of gold he promised. Now that their Blaise had died due to their boss's actions, they saw no point in carrying on with anything anymore. Their hearts were too broken.
The weight of some kinds of grief can only be understood after going through it. Children who lose loving parents young don't recover. Parents who lose children don't recover either. It goes against the natural order for parents to bury their babies. Baby coffins should not exist any more than baby orphans do. Casa di Zabini's motto was "L'amore trionfa su tutto"[Love triumphs over everything]. They should have known that the moment they aligned with a loveless monster was the beginning of the end of their House. It wasn't that Voldemort didn't understand love… in theory, at least. He just couldn't feel it. He wasn't equipped to do so. He was a true psychopath. He had no genuine bonds with anyone.
At his age, he had never made a real friend. Whatever the twisted, dysfunctional attempt at a relationship he had with Bellatrix Lestrange was not based on friendship, love, mere like, or even respect. It was based on his knowledge that she'd been entirely subservient to him. She had been a well-trained attack dog, nothing more, nothing less. Voldemort knew that Bellatrix would torture, kill, and destroy anyone and anything for him. He only needed to point or nod. One word from him would make her unleash all her demons and act out on her barely contained insanity. Their child that had died would not have been loved. It would have been a pawn, a tool, as disposable as all Death Eaters were. That's how he saw everyone around him. Now, he would get to see first-hand what loving parents would do against the man who murdered their beloved child.
Draco waited anxiously by the phone. Had anyone told him a year ago that he would be in this position, he would have laughed bitterly. He had grown so used to being nothing but a screw-up, a consummate disappointment in Malfoy Manor. He was always doing things the wrong way. He was never vicious enough. He wasn't cunning enough. He wasn't violent enough. He wasn't the son his father wanted, nor the one he thought he deserved. At the manor, his days were terrifying, stressful, cold, dark, lonely, and hopeless; even the food was terrible. On the island, his days were filled with warmth, sunlight, salty air, animated voices, good company, and delicious, healthy food.
The months he had spent at Potter's Island had altered something in him so profoundly that he didn't even know how to put it into words. He had made new friends. Friends that cared about him as a person. These friends trusted his judgment. To his utter disbelief, these friends were willing to follow him and back him up anywhere and against anyone. His father would have left him for dead for the Dark Lord, and he was family, biologically at the very least. That was another thing that was forever altered. His idea of what a family could and should look like was now much improved. No matter what happened in the war, he was always going to know better now. If he ever were to have his own family, which he doubted after losing Daph, he would be a much better husband and father now.
When Draco believed that no one would ever care about him again, Hermione Granger -a girl whom he had insulted, shunned, and disrespected- approached him, calmed his panic, and even hugged him (awkwardly, but still). Luna Lovegood, a girl he had barely spoken to before the Carrows took over, had made it her mission to exist in his presence, and she had scooted closer to his heart inch by inch every day. Now, he couldn't imagine a life without her in it. He had gained a friend in Neville as well. Another welcome change was that knowing he could have died in his latest mission and seeing him so hurt had apparently made his mother reevaluate some things and realize that they were all that was left of the Malfoy family. Narcissa had been checking up on him, and they were talking. They were finally having real conversations and getting to know each other. It appeared Mrs. Wea-Molly was right. Of course, she was.
Molly was warm, welcoming, and appreciative of his efforts. That was yet another surprise. He always feared that people would judge him for his parents' mistakes, especially people from families that were historically Light. She didn't. She didn't even pull back when he ugly cried on her lap about murdering his father in such a way. When he commented that he wished he had a close relationship with his mother, she hadn't dismissed him, or told him he had a lot to be grateful for, like people usually did with survivors. He left unsaid the 'I wish my mother was more like you.' She knew. Molly had a wisdom that made him feel he couldn't lie to her even if he wanted to, and so far, he didn't. Her perspective and ideas were opposed to what he was used to, but he thought it was a good thing. No, she wasn't perfect. Who was? But considering all the war took from her, she was a fierce matriarch who deserved all his respect and consideration. Molly said Narcissa and him weren't close because people simply can't be close to strangers. Despite the first ten years of Draco's life being spent at home with his mother, she barely knew the basics about him. Now, they had a chance to really be a family, albeit a small and broken family, but a family, nonetheless.
He had even recovered his aunt Andromeda and his uncle Ted. He had a distant but polite relationship with his cousin Tonks because he didn't know her much, and pregnancy moods were not the best time to build rapport, but he wanted to get closer. He would try harder now that her hormones were a bit better, having delivered her baby. Remus was proving to be a great man, just like he had been an excellent professor. Draco felt guilt gnaw at him for telling his father about his suspicions, which ended with the man being fired. Remus didn't deserve that at all. Draco's relationship with Sirius was a bit strange, but he liked the man's sense of humor and his style. He somehow managed to look the part of the heir of one of the most prominent magical families in Britain while being a prankster who blended in better with teenagers than adults, and yet Sirius knew the law, the customs, and the polite society manners, even if he chose to ignore them sometimes.
Sirius was fiercely loyal to Harry and Remus and had taken the lead in their mission at Hogwarts, fully knowing it may cost him his life. He relentlessly protected both him and Neville, nothing but his godson's friends, with animal fierceness. True, he and Sirius were cousins. But that was a technicality. They didn't know each other much. It was his mother's decision to cut ties with her sisters and cousins for peace in her marriage. That idea failed spectacularly. Maybe after the war, he would have a chance to get to know them and to prove himself. It would be nice to have family beyond his mother. He now understood the importance of building your own family, blood be damned. However, who surprised him the most on the island was Harry.
Draco marveled at how he had been wholly and unapologetically embraced by Harry. He tried not to think of what-ifs because his life would be entirely different if he had grown up with a friend like Harry (and Hermione, too, as they were a package deal). Harry had supported him, saved his mother's life and his own, and spared no expense to rescue and try to save Daphne… Even if the attempt was unsuccessful, in such turbulent times, most people wouldn't have even tried. Draco looked at Harry. He was reading a list from the general. His expression was always kind. Even on the hardest and longest days, when others would get snippy and mean from stress, he didn't. Draco took a deep, slow breath. Harry had given him a second chance, not just at a relationship with him personally, but at life. He was sure he didn't deserve that, not yet. Maybe one day.
But Harry was a different sort of person. He was all that was human. His humanity had awakened Draco's. The way the lion could relate to -what Lucius would call- the most insignificant creatures was so particular, nuanced, and authentic that Draco couldn't help but feel awe. First year Draco would have scoffed and rolled his eyes at anyone who spoke about Harry like he was something special. But now, living near the flawed person, not the legend, made him realize that Harry Potter was indeed awe-inspiring. He wasn't awe-inspiring in the knight-in-shining-armor-atop-a-stallion-holding-a-sword-and-galloping-into-battle way. He was awe-inspiring as in a leader who ensures everyone is alright, as in the commander who will take a deadly curse for you, as in the man who, despite his many responsibilities, will take the time to cook a meal, visit the injured, and mourn your losses as his own kind of way. He remembered the day Harry received the portkey bracelets. That was the day he realized they were now close friends. They had bonded.
FLASHBACK
Draco was always a light sleeper. It was an unfortunate side-effect of living with Death Eaters, even months after leaving the manor. The slightest noise would wake him up. He heard muffled footsteps, and something told him to go make sure no one was in trouble. He found Harry in the library with a box of charms, carefully placing one per each of the hundreds of open bracelets carefully placed on the large table Hermione used for research. She wasn't with him. Talking to her parents must have exhausted her.
The bracelets were simple enough. They were functional. Lavender and the Patil twins had done their best to make them less… bare. That way, people could choose a style that suited them. They had been commissioned by Harry from a private security firm in the United States that one of the soldiers recommended. Kingsley had approved them for use in England under the table and warned him that if any fell into the wrong hands, the consequences would be lethal, and the approval would vanish from existence.
Draco cleared his throat. Harry looked up and smiled. He motioned for Draco to approach.
"Do you think they will like them? I am still worried about the sizes and colors… You know how girls are about jewelry, and I don't want to offend the elves…"
Draco stared at him, perplexed, "Only you, Harry Potter, would consider things like that in the middle of a war."
"Is that a bad thing?" Harry scratched the back of his head. "I don't want people to feel like they are being branded or something."
Harry looked so genuinely worried and shy that Draco burst into laughter, and, surprising even himself, he grabbed Harry by the neck, pulled him closer, and kissed his forehead soundly, "You are something else!"
Harry blushed bright red, feeling self-conscious. He blinked several times to ascertain that he was indeed awake. He never expected Draco to kiss his forehead, nor anything else either. It was a bit strange… but nice. He never understood why boys weren't allowed to be affectionate with each other, but girls were. It made him feel hopeful that Draco felt comfortable enough to be affectionate at all after everything he had been through, "Something else, as in good?"
"Something else, as in awesome. Potter, each of those bracelets costs more than the average person's salary. And you just go and make sure everyone can have one, and there are additional ones just in case… Fuck! You are such a good person that if you wanted to brand us with a scorching iron Potter crest, I'd be first in line."
Harry smiled and chuckled, "Thanks... You know, for a second there, I thought you were going to kiss me."
Draco laughed, "But I did kiss you…"
"You know what I mean," Harry's blush grew.
Draco's eyes shone differently, and he turned on the flirty charm instantly. He stared into Harry's impossibly green eyes, which Harry quickly averted. Then, he looked at his body, up and down, slowly, as if measuring him. He stepped closer. Close enough to smell Harry's shampoo, who took a small step back, "Do you want me to kiss you? Granger could kill me, but it may be worth it," Draco licked his lips deliberately and slowly.
Harry gasped and turned beet red, "DRACO! No!"
Draco raised his hands in a giving-up gesture and took a step back with an amused chuckle.
"I had a dream like that once," Ginny said, making them both jump up and apart. Their faces were so shocked and embarrassed that she could barely contain her laugh. She had fallen asleep on one of the loveseats in a darkened corner. She did her best to look upset, "You do know that this conversation sounds really bad from where I'm standing, yes?"
Harry nodded, and he began, "Ginny-"
"What, Harry? You can explain? It's not what it looks like?" Ginny scoffed with her hands on her hips and one brow arched. "You know that Granger will kill him, Harry."
Harry gaped like a fish out of water, Draco looked genuinely worried, and Ginny's pretend annoyance cracked.
"Merlin! Your face!" She laughed at him.
Harry looked equally offended and relieved at her attempt at humor.
Draco realized something. He turned to her and crossed his arms, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa… Wait a minute! What do you mean you had a dream like this, Red? You dreamt about us kissing?!" he wiggled his brows.
She rolled her eyes hard, "About you kissing Harry."
"Oh… That got your interest, did it?" he stared deep into her eyes and blinked slowly as if caressing her from afar.
Ginny felt the room grow hotter. His eyes were magnetic.
"Draco," Harry warned. He wasn't sure Ginny was in the mental space for such humor just yet.
"What was it, Red? Jealous of Harry? Jealous of me? Or wanting to be in between both of us?" Draco lifted a brow and licked his lips slowly and discretely.
Ginny went a shade of red which was close to her hair even in the softly lit room. "Uh… I… I-" She couldn't speak when he looked at her like that.
Draco walked towards her slowly, with the grace of an animal stalking his prey, "Because if the latter… that can be arranged, Red. Right, Potter?"
"Harry! I can't- Do something!" Ginny took a few steps back.
"Draco-" Harry's tone was tense.
Draco laughed and, in a second, was back to his normal self, having turned off his sex appeal. He scoffed, "You lions are far too easy to tease. House of the brave, my ass. Neither of you could handle me. Maybe Hermione and Fleur… Maybe even Longwei. Not you."
Harry groaned in annoyance, "Hey! You keep both your hands and your thoughts away from my wife!"
Draco turned and walked slowly towards Harry with a smoldering look. He placed his hands on the table behind him, trapping the blushing green-eyed man in between his arms, "Yeah? Make me."
"Merlin, both of you, stop it! This is too weird!" Ginny covered her heated face with her cold hands.
"Why? Like what you see? Getting hot and bothered?" Draco wiggled his brows over his shoulder at Ginny again.
Harry cleared his throat and pushed Draco back gently so he could go around the table, still blushing, "What I will make you do is work on these bracelets," Harry tossed a still unopened bag of charms at Draco.
He caught it with a groan, "What?! Potter, it's one in the morning."
"Serves you right for snooping. I am almost halfway through because I started in the afternoon. Draco, start working or-"
"Or what? You'll spank me?" Draco smirked and arched one brow.
Harry looked mortified, "Or at least stop distracting me! Jesus!"
"Oh, I distract you… do I?" Draco winked at Harry.
"Ginny? Please don't leave me alone with him," Harry faked a scared expression.
"No worries. I'll protect your virtue," she laughed, setting up in between Harry and Draco and taking a few beads from Draco's bag. She noticed she didn't feel anger at Harry so casually calling Hermione his wife. Maybe there was hope for her still.
"I knew that the aggressive flirting had to be a family trait," Harry said as he worked.
Draco scoffed, "I'll have you know… Malfoys don't flirt. We network."
Ginny snorted, "Yeah, right!"
Harry chuckled, "Pfft! I didn't mean that side of the family. I meant Blacks. They are terrifyingly good at it."
"Right… I guess it's in my blood, then. I will tell Sirius that you need a transfusion for sure, though. How you manage to snatch up Granger is beyond me!"
"Me as well!" Harry chuckled as he packaged another bracelet.
Ginny cleared her throat.
"How you managed to get this one is another mystery…" Draco side-eyed Ginny and smiled at Harry.
"I got him. Not the other way around," Ginny bumped her hips sideways toward Draco's side, "I didn't know you were bi, ferret… You live and learn, I guess."
Draco smirked, "Whoever said I was bi, Red?"
Ginny's eyebrows furrowed, "Huh? You can't fake that!... Can you?"
"You'd be surprised about all I can fake and do, Red... I am just an equal opportunity flirt, like his godfather," Draco winked at her, and they all laughed as they went back to the charms.
END FLASHBACK
Having seen Potter in most ways that a person can be seen, in different moods, in different contexts, he was so happy that life had given him the chance to experience the friendship they now had. Looking back on that night, it surprised him that, even then, he just knew Harry wouldn't be weird about having a guy kiss his forehead. Someone else would have shoved him or punched him. Maybe they would have changed the way they treated him after the fact. But on top of everything else, Harry was okay with love in all forms. He was such a humane person. There was no other term. That kind of humanity was extremely rare. In Draco's experience of the world, it was almost the stuff of legends. People just weren't like that. Not without an agenda. And yet, against all odds, Harry Potter existed. The man he became, even after all he had been through, was so improbable, so unlikely, and yet there he was.
His humanity was so inspiring that Draco was… healing. He couldn't explain it in any other way. He couldn't even verbalize it because he feared he would implode with all the emotions within. Chunks and pieces of him that had been punched, stabbed, burnt away, humiliated, ridiculed, and stomped on were coming back to him somehow. Maybe he could still have a good life if he survived the war. He had been staring for a few seconds, and Harry felt it. Emerald eyes looked up from a few scrolls on his lap. Their eyes met. Harry steeled his gaze, but there was no anger, malice, or annoyance. The only emotion there was concern. Harry stood up and walked to him. He placed his hands on Draco's shoulders very lightly.
"I can hear a storm brewing in your mind from my seat… Talk to me, Draco. What's troubling you?"
"I… I don't know, Harry… They should have called by now, right?" Draco wrung his hands.
"Draco… You know that what they are doing is extremely dangerous. They may have run into some unexpected delays."
Or they could be dead, Draco thought. His breathing got shaky, "If they don't call-"
"We will wait the whole hour. My offer isn't time-sensitive, Draco. The attacks may be… But if I have learned anything in these months, it is that war is a logistical nightmare… Even if they call an hour later, I will try to help them and keep them safe… And we will try to warn as many people as we can."
Draco nodded, and two tears escaped his eyes, "Thank you."
"Hey, none of that. You did this," Harry smiled and squeezed his shoulders gently. "Thank yourself."
Draco's jumbled emotions won, and with a sob, he hugged Harry tightly suddenly. It was a good thing that Harry was a little less shocked by physical affection now. Old Harry would have jumped away in fright. Harry refrained from matching his enthusiasm out of concern for his health, "Aren't you still suffering the Cruciatus effects?"
"Yes, but h-hugs make me feel better even if they h-hurt," Draco whispered.
"Oh, okay then," Harry whispered back and squeezed him. He chuckled, "You learned a thing or two from Hermione, huh?"
"I wouldn't want to disappoint her."
"That's very smart of you," Harry chuckled. "Without her, I would have died during first year… Excuse me."
Mr. Granger waved him over, and they started whispering back and forth. Draco noticed that Mrs. Granger held Harry's arm with one hand and rubbed circles on his upper back with the other. Draco still didn't understand much about other families (normal ones). But seeing things like this only reinforced that his family unit was fucked up from the moment his parents married out of convenience, and they never made any attempts to connect. They were the picture-perfect family in public, of course. But behind closed doors, they barely spoke to each other. Mrs. Granger seemed to reassure Harry that they were okay after his outburst without exchanging words, which was helping.
Draco paced for ten minutes. He sat. He couldn't stop shaking his leg. Mrs. Granger had sat across from him at some point with legs crossed and her usual impeccable posture, which Hermione undoubtedly inherited. Mr. Granger was next to her with a radio and a notepad. Harry was sitting in the next armchair, tapping his fingers quietly against his staff. Hermione was in a different area, keeping tabs on Viktor's team's progress with the help of a couple of intrepid elves and Marauder mirrors. Draco tried to breathe to calm himself. He was starting to lose it like he did that first day at the beach. He could still remember their last conversation.
FLASHBACK
It was a beautiful, chilly autumn afternoon. Blaise was sitting with his back against the trunk of their favorite tree. He put a cigarette in between his lips with a trembling hand. His hair waved with the cold wind.
Once he lit the cigarette, he asked, "Have you seen how they look at us?"
"Who?"
"All the non-Slytherins… even some of our fellow snakes."
"Yeah… like we did something bad," Draco shrugged. He was used to it.
Blaise scoffed, "No… Like we are dead men walking."
"B…"
"You know I'm right… Our dads will get us killed, D," Blaise said, then blew smoke into Draco's face.
Draco hated smoke, but he didn't even scrunch his nose. The sentence was far too shocking and too true. His father would no doubt sacrifice him at any point to get ahead. He had told him to his face that he was still young and could still sire a new heir should Draco become… difficult. That was when he decided he needed to find a way to leave and take his mother with him. Blaise's circumstances were different, but his parents had some business deal with Voldemort, and well, business would easily go awry in a war.
"Promise me something," Blaise said with a resigned tone.
"What?" Draco turned to face him fully.
"Promise me that you will help them."
"Your parents?"
"Yes…"
"B, you will help them," Draco shook his head.
Blaise raised his left hand so Draco could see his palm. Draco squinted. He didn't see anything.
"Trelawney said I will die young…"
Draco rolled his eyes, "Trelawney is a fraud. She's a basket case."
"And yet, Voldemort has based his entire agenda on trying to kill the kid in her prophecy… Look… Look at my lifeline," Blaise pointed.
"So?"
"It vanishes here."
Draco frowned. He looked at his own left palm. His line went all the way almost to meet his wrist lines; Blaise's ended abruptly quite a bit before the middle of his hand. Draco shook his head again. "B, honestly, that could be anything."
"What if it isn't, D?" Blaise's mask of arrogance cracked, and Draco saw the kid he met five years ago.
Draco felt a strong pull to give his friend anything to change his expression, "Alright, I promise, B. But you must promise the same for my mom if…"
"I promise, D," Blaise shook his hand and hugged him tightly.
END FLASHBACK
Luna entered the library and unceremoniously sat on the arm of Draco's chair and draped her legs over his without a word. His legs stopped anxiously shaking immediately, and he felt his heart calm down a bit. Luna's presence was a different kind of magic. The Grangers were huddled together with Harry whispering back and forth.
"Can I help you in any way?" she asked.
"You already did... Listen, we haven't had a chance to talk since the mission…"
Luna looked away, "I am sorry…"
"Whatever for?" Draco frowned a bit.
"You know… What I did, I" she looked down.
Draco turned to face her, "Luna, eyes on me."
She looked up. Her cerulean blue eyes met steely gray. She had been crying.
"No one could ever judge you less than me, blondie," Draco squeezed one of her hands.
"I know… It's just… I feel like everyone sees me differently now."
"As they should… You are a warrior and a survivor. Just… next time, let someone know you have additional plans so we can take care of you, doll."
She smiled and squeezed back. "I will. Thank you… No news?"
Draco blinked and took deep, slow breaths, "Not yet."
"Braid my hair? It will distract you," Luna offered, sitting down on the floor in front of his armchair.
"Of course," Draco began to undo her bun and brush her long hair with his fingers. Long gone were the days when her hair was knotted and frizzy. Now, her hair had defined waves that ended in soft curls on the tips. It was silkier and thicker than ever. It always had a particular jasmine fragrance that filled him with peace.
Back on the island, Snape groaned in intervals. He still wasn't out of his induced stasis. Lady Greengrass was keeping him out for a few hours to see if his magical levels rose. She didn't have high hopes that he hadn't lost his magic completely. It was now in the double digits when it had been in the triple digits before. She wanted him to be always accompanied. He could do something stupid if he realized he lost his magic. She would keep him on suicide watch even if she had to have two elves assigned to his care.
Molly had volunteered to help around the Infirmary. She sighed as she levitated the man and changed the bedsheets with a nifty variation of a household spell that Healer Greengrass had taught her. It made the bed hospital-style, very tight, and secure. She was so glad he had told them everything he could before his run-in with a Horcrux. Molly was still very conflicted by the news that her baby girl had destroyed the foul creation.
Ginny was still sleeping, but unlike Snape, her face was of pure peace and joy. Biased as her opinion was, her daughter had never looked more beautiful. When Molly saw how her baby girl's eyes changed, she had to hold onto one of the beds. It was true. Her daughter did indeed look like Lily Potter now. Through her younger years, Ginny had different eye colors, but never this shade. Even when her eyes had been greenish, they had been more hazel than green. Now, they were emerald, just like Harry's. Charlie read the notes about Snape's questioning in a claw foot tub by Ginny's bed. He had asked the elves to help him settle there. He was writing his own notes on a separate pad with a muggle pen. He had sent a short manual of his magical creatures to Potter Castle, and crates of them were moved in case they could help in the upcoming final battle.
Carlo Zabini was glad to have been born with a seamless, natural poker face. It made his blood boil to admit that Severus Snape had always been right. He had been forced to join the Dark Lord because his family was relatively new to England, and his ancestors never wanted to enmesh themselves with the light side. It made sense financially back then. They had fled Italy because of the terrifying consequences of muggle's World War II, an always present mafia war, and they had kept to themselves since. When Lucius Malfoy approached him four years ago, he had already spoken to Severus.
The Zabinis had always managed to supply the most exotic ingredients to potioneers in England through their specialty store "Zabini: Pozioni e Rimedi." As such, Carlo had a long-standing relationship with Severus Snape. They weren't friends but were as close to friendship as two such cold and aloof people could ever get. When Severus made Bellatrix miscarry, Carlo had only pretended to try to save her life. He had used expired blood-replenishing potions and faked his despair at not being able to help. Once the rest of the soldiers had retired after drinking in her honor, Carlo drank a shot of dragon ale to celebrate her death. It had surprised him that Voldemort didn't even have an inkling that he had done everything he could not to help Bellatrix.
Then again, it wasn't this Voldemort that the world knew and feared. Carlo often wondered, late at night, after everyone else had retired, how the world would react if they saw what was left of the 'great' Dark Lord. Each Horcrux that Potter destroyed took a bigger percentage of his power away. When the young wizard had managed to take the Elder Wand with him, Carlo had allowed himself a happy dance in the barely functional shower. Voldemort was biting more than he could chew with his rotten teeth. He was dealing with all sorts of deplorable wizards and witches all over Europe. They were making horrible agreements, exchanging bits of land for the potential of dominion over magical and non-magical communities. They had no sense of honor, no sense of loyalty.
Having grown up close to the Sicilian mafia, your word meant something. Agreements were respected. Basic decency was something even enemies counted on. If you were in the middle of burying someone, the enemy group wouldn't come to attack you at a funeral. Of course, it wasn't all vino and al dente carbonara. Just like the Dark Lord, the godfathers didn't accept disobedience… Except, unlike Voldemort, they did see their enterprise as a family. Often, it was a family affair. The most significant difference was that the godfather would protect you. Yes, they expected blind loyalty and subservience. But if someone messed with you, the godfather would ensure they regret their existence. The godfather would spare no expense to show his enemies that their figloccios and figloccias were not to be touched [godsons and goddaughters].
Things at command were deranged. It was all so confusing. What began as a well-organized faction was crumbling more and more. Voldemort's movement was looking more like an amateur hour every day. True, they had pulled off insane feats. They had overthrown a government. They had circumvented the muggle authorities. They had carried out terror attacks successfully. Hundreds were dead. Thousands were injured. Non-magical law enforcement was at an all-time high alert. Airports were covered in police, and bomb-sniffing dogs had been brought to main European cities all over. Muggle authorities were waiting with bated breath and chewing their nails praying they wouldn't be next.
Carlo prayed every night that he would be next once he had fulfilled his purpose. He couldn't wait to die. Voldemort was such a disgusting monster that he didn't notice, nor care, that Carlo was no longer wearing his traditional family color, grigio [gray], or that he and his wife had both exchanged it for tutto quanto nero [all black everything]. Carlo didn't even think that Voldemort realized his violent takeover of Hogwarts had cost them their heir, their only child, the person they loved most. Nobody else had cared or noticed either. Except for Snape. Carlo had found a note under his pillow. 'I am sorry for your loss. He was a great kid who didn't deserve that.' Zabini only knew it was him because he recognized his handwriting from all the potion ingredient orders from Hogwarts.
All the people he had been forced to tolerate and work with for years were now on his kill list. He had run for his life and interfered as much as possible to buy time for the Potter clones. Whoever the blonde girl had been, she was fierce. The muggle kid had been a surprise. He was very resilient and robust for someone wandless. It had been in the Infirmary where Neville realized that Blaise's parents were most definitely alive. Draco had doubts and had kept communications purposefully vague. Carlo took a deep breath and bent down to tie his boots. He barely saw the end of a goat's tail as it went back into hiding. He took the envelope from a small gap between a bench and a wall and tucked it inside the boot, which was then covered by his long cloak. He apparated to the entrance of Rowle's Manor. He proved his identity as usual and walked briskly. When he only supplied ingredients, most Death Eaters thought he was of a lower rank. Now that he and his wife made all the potions, they stayed out of his way. He got to the room that was turned into an impromptu potion lab where his wife, Isabella, was waiting for him while mixing ten potion batches simultaneously.
Carlo closed the door behind him and took out a piece of uncooked spaghetti. He cracked it in half. His wife winced. They had agreed to use it, but it broke her Sicilian heart. The magic worked. Carlo waved the halves, and blueish sparks bathed the walls, the door, the windows, the fireplace, and the ceiling. They could now speak freely with no chance of spying. Carlo went around the desk and opened the envelope with the code word: "Mischief!"
If you get us the information you need, we will protect you. Location, time, manner. -HJG-
"Can we trust her?" his wife asked. She could tell it was a woman from the handwriting.
Carlo read a second note and handed it to Isabella.
This is the best chance you have. B would want you to take it. -D-
"I think we can trust him."
"Okay. Then, it is time… I will dose them. It will take four minutes at the most for them to lose consciousness. You need to make a run for it. It should be in the master's bedroom. I will distract the werewolves."
"Amore," Carlo grimaced. Both knew what that meant. [Love]
"Soltanto uno di noi deve sopravvivere," Isabella shrugged as she added the last ingredient to one cauldron. [Only one of us has to survive]
"Isabella, please-"
Tears fell from her eyes, and he dabbed them with his handkerchief, "Amore, sono già morta [Love, I am already dead]. I died with our son."
Carlo nodded sadly, "I know."
Isabella cradled his face and placed both their foreheads together, "Vendicare nostro figlio." [Avenge our son]
"Giuro che lo farò, amore." [I swear I will, love.]
"I will be waiting for you," she looked up to the ceiling, smiled, and pecked his lips gently. They crossed each other's forehead in a silent blessing and parted ways after lowering the wards.
In Rowle Manor, a difficult meeting was underway while Voldemort recovered.
"War is not a one-time battle, Rowle. It's a process in stages. Stage one, taking over Hogwarts, was already completed successfully."
"Successfully? A destroyed magic-less castle is a success to you?" Pansy rolled her eyes at the older man but was ignored.
"Stage two, destabilizing the muggle world by simultaneous attacks, partially done as of now."
"Stage three, get Her executed publicly somewhere it can't be ignored and where the press will have to print it."
"That's never going to happen," Pansy cackled as she filed her nails into claws.
"Parkinson, need I remind you that your standing in this organization is very fragile right now?" Karkaroff growled.
"My father's actions are his own!" she protested with an annoyed tone.
CRACK! Pansy tasted blood. She grabbed her quickly reddening cheek and left the room. Igor had backhanded her.
"Stupid child."
"Stage four: attack the remaining muggle targets. Stage five: kill Potter and all his minions when he comes for revenge."
"He came to Hogwarts twice in 48 hours and left unscathed," Priscilla Rowle snarled.
"Pardon me, but we were not expecting Him to be in this condition," Igor complained.
"Karkaroff!" Rowle said in a warning tone.
"What?! Like you are not all thinking the same?! With every artifact lost, he has become weaker and crazier. We are losing allies left and right because he keeps torturing and killing us! His absurd nostalgic insistence to bind himself to that rotting castle took another huge chunk of his magical power. At this point, do we even know if he can go the distance?!"
Unfortunately for Igor, he had spoken of the devil, and the devil had keen ears… and monitoring spells. He had been resting in his room and drinking potions to recover. Everyone around the table paled, but Karkaroff didn't see anything coming. He just felt a lot of pain. Everyone else saw Voldemort's dark-robed, skeleton-like presence as he appeared out of thin air, his magic-imbued hand burrowing into Karkaroff's body from behind and wrapping around his heart.
"I can go the distance, Igor. You… cannot," the Dark Lord tightened his hold of the man's still-beating heart, and his long claws pierced the heart, causing it to bleed profusely into the man's chest. His eyes soon rolled into the back of his head, and he fell dead on the table. "Anyone else doubts me?"
The room froze as Karkaroff's body shook from blood loss until he moved no more. When he fell limply, Voldemort withdrew his hand and licked his fingers clean slowly. No one could move from sheer panic.
"I said, do you doubt me?!" Voldemort growled.
"Never, sir," Priscilla replied with as much poise as possible, given the grotesque scene.
"Don't lie to me, Priscilla. Your fear is deafening. I could hear it from miles away. I heard your thoughts minutes ago: What if we are attacked when he's weak?" he imitated her voice mockingly.
Priscilla kept her eyes down. "My Lord, I am worried about your survival only."
Voldemort rolled his snake-like red eyes, "No, you are not. You are worried about what will become of you if I ever die."
She kept her eyes down, "Yes, My Lord… I do apologize. You chose us Slytherins for a reason, but part of that is our interest in our own survival."
"Another reason was that I thought you were competent, and I have been sorely disappointed. What am I? Your nanny? You cannot hold your own against teenagers, Priscilla?"
"Neither can you, sir," Pansy chuckled from her position at the door. Her face was lathered in bruise balm.
Deafening silence followed as everyone's eyes widened in disbelief at the girl's stupidity. They were expecting her to be blown up or something equally as final. The room got colder. Voldemort's upper lip spasmed in barely contained fury.
After some seconds of no retaliation, Priscilla tried, "My Lord, Harry Potter is not-"
"He is seventeen! Emphasis on the TEEN!" Voldemort punched the table. "How has he managed to get the muggle police involved?!"
Felix Rosier raised his hand slowly, "It's not just the muggle police, sir."
Riddle turned to him with a furious scowl.
"The muggles… May I speak freely, sir?" Rosier.
"YES!" Riddle rubbed his temples in exasperation.
"We have a lot of catching up to do. You have been busy writing back and forth to our comrades in continental Europe… But the muggles… They organize better and much faster than we do, sir. With their telephones, faxes, and something called an 'e' mail, sir."
"Tell me, who else is helping him?!" Voldemort growled.
A relatively new Death Eater -Massimo Conti- raised his hand to speak; Riddle nodded, "Mio Signore, we captured a lieutenant from the Royal Army. After extensive tortura [torture], we have confirmation that Potter is being supported by the Regina herself," Massimo said in a thick accent.
"The Regina?" a recent Hogwarts graduate whispered, but in the silent room, it sounded like shouting.
Massimo nodded, "Yes, the Regina… Come si dice…? The Queen!"
"I told you she needed to be eliminated months ago, Rosier!" Riddle snapped at Rosier Jr. "How is it that we destroyed her bloody castle and not get the Queen?! She's a muggle grandmother! It's not like she can outrun you!"
"She has more than one castle," Conti spoke slowly, "Potter and his people, signore… They warned her in advance, long before our attack on Buckingham Palace. That's why we didn't get to her. Her security had her and her family moved without anyone realizing. We haven't found out where they were moved to yet, but because she stood behind Potter, that got him international attention and help. The Queen doesn't take part in any conflitto [conflict]. She is a decorative figure now and has remained somewhat neutral in other wars, so for her to take sides is forcing other people's hands to follow suit."
"Potter needs to die as soon as possible," Riddle sighed.
"He has always needed to die as soon as possible, My Lord," Pansy said as she leaned on the doorframe. "It just seems like you can't accomplish that," she rolled her eyes at him.
"Nudus!" he snarled as he pointed at her with his index finger, and her goth partially torn clothes vanished. She moved to cover herself as several men in the room were leering at her but realized Riddle had petrified her without a word. "You. Are. Not. Bellatrix Lestrange. You will never be Bellatrix! Don't be delusional. Never speak to me again unless spoken to, Parkinson."
Pansy paled and gasped as her wand was summoned by Voldemort and snapped into three pieces.
"My Lord. Pardon the interruption, but we should get going. I got word," Rosier Jr.'s wife said.
"Conti," Riddle motioned at Parkinson with his head, "Have at her… as a uh… ricompensa [reward] for the valuable information you got me. Rosier Jr., you better have good news from the Caribbean when we return."
"Limits, sir?" Conti looked at Pansy up and down slowly with a hideous smirk.
"None… Do whatever you want to her. Just keep her quiet. If she doesn't survive… Well, we didn't lose much," Riddle shrugged. "As for the rest of you… You will not move from this table until you decide whether you will support me as fully as I need you to or whether you want to end like Karkaroff… or worse," Voldemort left with his robe dragging behind him.
As soon as the two cracks of apparition sounded, Isabella donned her gas mask, distributed the powder, and waited with silver knives in her hands. The werewolves would come to find her soon. It was a good thing her cousin Totò Riina* taught her well. She made sure her detonators were still in her robe pockets. Whoever was maimed or died would be little to make her feel better about the horrible way her son was ripped away from this world. She smirked and ran down the service stairs to the basement after blowing an entire pouch of silver powder up in the air behind her. She had made the powder herself, using the rosary beads recovered from Blaise's neck. She knew God would forgive her for it. She crossed herself and took a deep breath to get ready. Riposa in pace, Tesoro [Rest in peace, baby].
A wounded Carlo barely reached the meet-up point, a phone booth in a small town up north. He dialed as fast as he could while picking up his small note with the information he needed to convey. They picked up after one ring.
"Mischief?"
"M-Managed," he grunted. "R-Religions are next… They want to p-put everyone against each o-other. Multiple bombings… Moscow, Jerusalem, the Vatican, Mecca. Greatest, most symbolic religious buildings."
"Which ones?"
"St. Basil's Cathedral, Belz Great Synagogue, St. Peter's Basilica, and Masjid al-Haram. C-Coordinated attacks in… s-seven hours from now. Explosives d-dropped from disillusioned brooms. The countries and their a-allies will all start pointing f-fingers. They won't be a-able to prove who is behind it. T-Trust will be b-broken, and a world war will begin."
Luna gasped next to Harry. They shared a look and a nod, and she apparated away to get the General.
Harry replied, "Noted. Thank you. This may save millions of lives. Hang up the phone and stick your wand under the X mark. Say the codeword, and you will arrive at a safe location. Throw your wand away from you as soon as you land and lay on your stomach with your hands above your head."
Carlo felt his wife's blood vial grow ice cold against his chest, and a wave of pain and loss hit him like a tsunami. It was all over. "D?"
"Yes? Is she with you, C?" Draco got closer to the satellite phone, dread deep in his stomach.
"Isa-Isabella is g-gone. She p-put them to sleep and exploded a c-couple of bombs at Rowle's. I… I don't need p-protection anymore... Give them h-hell. Thank you for trying, D. Good luck... Potter, I hope you w-win soon," Carlo let the phone hang from the cable.
"C?" Harry held onto the phone harshly. "C?!"
"Sir?!" Draco held onto the arms of the chair in fright. Mrs. Granger gasped.
The last thing the teens heard before the phone was hung was Carlo whispering an Italian killing curse. He refused to end his life with Voldemort's preferred spell, "Subita Morte!"
They heard a thud, and the phone call went dead. Draco started sobbing. "He k-killed himself?"
Harry nodded, still shocked.
Dharma's voice reached into his core, "Harry! Time is of the essence!" He shook his head.
"Jing!" Harry ran to the balcony and yelled. "He didn't make it! We need every Command right now! I have confirmation of the targets! Less than seven hours until the attacks!"
"Chyou!" Jing began, but his daughter was already running, yelling an "On it!" over her shoulder.
Draco turned to the Grangers and handed them a number, "Call the Prime Minister, please," he handed them the phone with shaky hands. Luna apparated back and hugged him from behind. "I am so sorry."
He turned around and cried on her shoulder. "I f-failed him, Luna…"
"You did everything you could, Draco," she pushed calming energy toward him. "Blaise knows that."
Harry squeezed Draco's shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "I'm really sorry, Draco." He stepped towards Hermione's parents, who were fighting with someone who didn't seem to want to give the phone to the Prime Minister.
"Tell him it's Harry Potter, God damn it!"
"Mr. Granger," Harry motioned for him to hand him the phone.
"I will not calm down! Listen, you useless fuck! If you don't hand Blair the phone immediately, you will be to blame for the terrorist attacks that will end ALL life on Earth!"
Everyone assumed the person on the line asked, "What?!"
"Yes, I'm serious! Why would I have this number?! I'm talking multicontinental NUCLEAR WAR! I don't care what he's doing! I don't care if he's asleep! I don't care if he will be upset! This is the most important thing in the list of the most important things EVER!"
Mr. Granger handed Harry the phone.
"Potter?" Prime Minister Blair sounded groggy.
"Wake up, sir! We are on the brink of nuclear war! You have under seven hours to warn everyone and mobilize them to prevent this. We will help, but it doesn't guarantee anything-" Harry walked away with the phone.
A few meters away, "Aberforth?" Draco spoke into the mirror. "It's all hands on deck time. Get Kingsley. He needs to warn MACUSA and ICW immediately."
Viktor landed in the backyard of Potter Castle with a victorious roar in his native language despite the pain all over his body. Very few people in the world had ever experienced the adrenaline of flying at such high speeds with such little protection and finesse in such a dangerous situation, especially when wearing someone else's body. He really thought he wouldn't come back. Then again, very few people had the skills that Viktor did. It was strange to fly using someone else's body, but luckily, Harry's frame was perfect for what he needed to do. He flew first, followed by the Quidditch team in a double spear formation. He managed to place every single one of the charges where he was told. He evaded daggers, fire, explosions, water, chunks of debris, and broken statues.
A couple of spells did hit him partially, causing significant pain, but he managed to perform three Wronski feints, and his own invention, the Krum Spiral, which allowed him to keep his hold on Harry's broom and down two giants with a smooth hit of his арбалет [crossbow] straight into their brains. It was a good thing that his father taught him to hunt on a broom, and he could shoot accurately at breakneck speeds. A couple of dementors tried to get at him, but he was not about to die before he could marry the love of his life. Wood and Bell could have been great beaters in another life. They had managed to keep him in one piece so he could focus on what he needed to do. They flew to Hogsmeade and hid near the Shrieking Shack, where Viktor placed the last charge. As per General Xu's orders, any old tunnels that lead into Hogwarts had to be collapsed.
Viktor/Harry was seen by a very pale Voldemort who raged and tried to take flight to follow him… unsuccessfully. Whatever had happened in the past few days had weakened him significantly. So much so that Bell was inches from hitting him with an exsangue, even while he was surrounded by his four closest remaining Death Eaters. Krum wasn't sure what it was that had Riddle looking like that. Maybe it was Hogwarts' death, the last Horcrux's destruction, the liberation of the unicorns, or maybe just the long-standing magical cost of being such a consummate piece of shit… The price of all the dark, immoral rituals… Maybe it was karma finally catching up to him, as Luna had said. It didn't matter. He was weak, maybe at his weakest ever, and they needed to make the most of it.
Their goal was simple. Create an explosion big enough that can be seen by the fighter jets that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth had loaned General Xu, which would be close enough to reach the territory and level what was left of it. They needed the explosion so the authorities could claim they were counterattacking and not just dropping bombs on unarmed civilian territories. This would, in turn, force Voldemort to leave. They had enough intel from the DMLE regarding all the Death Eater-owned property locations. Most -of the British Death Eater's- properties were closer to London. This would make their collaboration with muggles authorities easier.
"My Lord! Willkommen! Phase two is about to start." [Welcome]
"I want to watch it happen," Voldemort replied. "I want to watch it all burn!"
He ignored the strange sensation deep in his core that something was not going according to plan. He was getting paranoid, and these attacks were too important to put his attention elsewhere.
That something not going according to plan for him was something going perfectly well for Casa di Zabini.
Because he was brought to this location, Riddle narrowly missed how a strange mist went through the vents of the house he had just left. It put all the Death Eaters who didn't come with him to sleep. Two werewolves sniffed the air from their guarding positions, as the mist didn't affect them, and went to investigate. Their inquisitive walk ended with bleeding noses and scorched throats as they inhaled the silver powder when their noses were searching for the source of the mist.
They powered through, as werewolves did in their inhumane resilience, and clawed at Isabella Zabini, who, although dying, whispered a spell that made two silver daggers impale the werewolves' brains. As such, they didn't even have a chance to run when a bleeding-out Isabella pressed the detonators with a triumphant smirk covered by her gas mask as she bled out. She knew she wouldn't get them all. She didn't care. She had already gotten two that were worth at least half a dozen. The bombs would hurt many more and make sure this house was not useable for Riddle. This would be yet another nuisance. Her last thought was, "Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line" [quote by William Goldman].
"You want me to do-? Now? Absolutely not! It will cause mass panic!"
"Silencio! Petrificus totalus! Imperius!" Amelia pressed her wand against the man's spine from behind, willing him to do what she needed.
"Bones! What the fuck?!"
"We don't have time for niceties, Kingsley. I will take the jail time and the fines. I am no longer head of the DMLE. What is the worst they could do to me? Mr. Brown, take this to the cameraman. Mrs. Brown, please help the newscaster to his chair. Make sure he reads this sign. Nothing else. Mr. Brown, as soon as he is done reading, make him end the transmission."
"I can't use that spell," the Browns replied in unison.
"Don't. They can believe it's real. I will-"
"Shut up! I don't need to hear it. Plausible deniability," Kingsley left the room. "I'll go talk to the colonel."
"Fine. I'll take care of things here. Go," Amelia replied with a curt nod.
"Ladislav!"
"Mein Führer! Welcome… Look! It is marvelous!"
"I don't see anything," Voldemort frowned. He saw the maps on the table, but the television was only broadcasting a comedy show. A few meters away, the fresh corpses of the muggles who owned the house they were occupying lay in a pool of blood with terrified expressions.
"Wir erwarten Ihr Kommando!" [We await your command!]
Riddle ordered "Vorgehen!" [Proceed!] in terrible pronunciation but was understood all the same.
Ladislav Nižňanský* was a much-welcome addition to Voldemort's most trusted resources. He had the experience. He had the bloodlust. He was steadfast in his beliefs and had no pesky sense of morality. He lifted a strange-looking phone and pressing a button, he said, "Wahler*, attacke!" [Wahler, attack!]
They waited in silence. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Ten minutes. Voldemort paced. Ladislav smiled maniacally. At the forty-minute mark, Ladislav frowned. "Wahler?" he spoke into the radio. There was no reply. Had something gone wrong? No. It was impossible. No one who knew what was happening could talk. They
"What is happening, Ladislav?" Voldemort frowned.
At the twenty-minute mark, the traditional emergency broadcast interrupted the show.
The host looked terrified. He was sweaty and pale. His eyes were filling with unshed tears, "We interrupt this program to bring the most terrible news. We are informed by our colleagues in other locations that there has been a new wave of terrorist attacks. St. Basil's Cathedral has been bombed. St. Peter's Basilica is on fire. Belz Great Synagogue is barely standing…" The presenter pressed something against their ear and was quiet for about a minute. Tears fell down his cheeks, and he hastily brushed them away, looking up apologetically for his emotions slipping, "We are also getting reports that Masjid al-Haram in Mecca was attacked as well. We will bring you more information as soon as it is available. I think we can all agree… The world is at war. We will bring you more information and images from those areas as soon as they are available. May God have mercy on all of us."
The screen faded to black as the Death Eater turned the television off.
"My Lord. We have succeeded!"
"Marvelous work! Recall your men and bring them home. I shall celebrate with your group later."
"Yes, sir," Ladislav nodded with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He suspected things had not gone the right way. Wahler wouldn't simply not reply. Not after their vows due to Nuremberg. However, hours would go by before he could do his own checks or get any answers to his unspoken questions.
"Potter?"
"Tell me you have good news, please!" Harry's nails were buried on the sofa seat.
"We do."
Harry jumped up, "FINALLY!"
"We may have prevented the end of the world thanks to this information! We have apprehended several suspects, and with the help of the force of international HIT wizards, we managed to subdue them and cancel their magic. We've also managed to do preventive damage control about the false news alert that will circulate."
"Good… Now, we need his current location so we can carpet bomb the bastard!" the general said with a feral grin.
"We will get it. We found Mr. Zabini. He had coordinates in a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. Does the name Rowle ring a bell?"
"Yes!" Draco nodded. "It was one of the potential headquarters if something happened to Malfoy Manor."
"Someone set out a couple of mid-range explosives. It wasn't enough to bring the whole structure down, but it did cause enough damage to render it useless. A couple of your Aurors have been staking out the place with INTERPOL agents. We will follow them and find out where they are moving toward."
Harry frowned. Draco mouthed, 'Isabella.' "We believe it was Mrs. Zabini, sir. They were avenging their murdered son, Blaise."
"We found- Hand me that file! No! Not that one! The other one!... Police found three bodies. If you send one of your nifty elf helpers, I can give you a copy of the photographs. Maybe one of you can identify them with their masks removed."
"Of course. Dobby, please go and collect the pictures. Prime Minister, please make sure the bodies are very well identified in the morgue."
"We always do that. Why the emphasis?"
"There's something his side is doing… It's a potion that allows them to take the physical characteristics of another person for over 24 hours."
"How on Earth-?"
"Sir, we don't have time to get into it. Just know that the corpses may change their current appearance entirely by the next time they are looked at."
"Ugh. Fine. Noted. I will let the medical examiners know," there was a pause. "Ah, thank you, Mr. Dobby," the prime minister smiled.
"You are welcome, Mr. Prime Minister," Dobby's squeaky voice could be heard through the phone.
"We had a few panicked calls to authorities because of the broadcast, but they have been dealt with. Her Majesty has been informed, and she cannot thank you enough. Once things settle down, I am sure she will contact you personally."
The general frowned slightly, "Sir, do I detect a tone of goodbye?"
"No, General Xu. Not at all. Just a brief absence… I am needed in a meeting. Do call if you need me. I will always keep the satellite phone with me."
"Good, because this is not over until Riddle and all his people are dead."
"Of course. We understand. Her Majesty's forces await your commands."
"Thank you, sir. I'll call them right away."
A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you are safe and healthy wherever you are. I thought I'd update this for those of you who wanted a little present. The holidays are a tough time for me. They have been the past 7 years, especially since I lost my mother. If you are struggling these days, too, for whatever reason, I am sending you strength and patience. Forgive yourself for struggling, for not feeling like you want to leave your bed. Prioritize your emotional needs and allow some grace for yourself while you power through. Powering through may look like only having 30% to give and giving 30% which means you gave it your all. Powering through may be having a meal or taking a shower. It may look like going on a long walk. It may look like a Harry Potter marathon. It may look like cuddling with your pet. Whatever you do to make yourself able to push through the pain, the loneliness, or the heartbreak, do it... Thank you for following this story for so long, particularly those of you who have been with me from day one. I have been battling my own demons as I write this, and sometimes I fear my writing quality is going downhill. Please know that I am doing my best. Please remember you don't have to read this. Please remember I make no money off this. Please be kind if you want to comment/review. If you can't be kind, please just click on the big red 'x' on the top right corner. -Lux-
Check the author's notes for additional information.
As for the notes:
1)The opening quote is from Count Vittorio Alfieri, an Italian dramatist and poet, considered by many the father of Italian tragedy, and it translates to: "Deep vengeance is the daughter of deep silence."
2) It would be remiss of me to create new monsters from scratch when there have been so many real ones in history:
-Ladislav Nižňanský served as the commander of an "Edelweiss" unit that hunted Jews and partisans in Slovakia. He was accused of being involved in the massacre of 146 people in two villages and the later killing of 18 Jewish civilians. Nižňanský moved to Germany after the war and was sentenced to death in absentia by a Czechoslovak court in 1962. He was tried in 2005 and acquitted by a German court due to a lack of reliable evidence. Nižňanský died in December 2011.
-Herbert Wahler served in Einsatzgruppe C and was accused of being involved in the massacre of tens of thousands of Jews in Ukraine, including at Babi Yar. In March 2020, the public prosecutor's office in Kassel announced that Wahler would not face charges due to a lack of evidence.
Why these two? Because of the 'lack of evidence' that prevented their imprisonment, which would arguably prove they were competent criminals. The kind I think LV would welcome in his ranks with open arms.
3) Who the hell is Totò Riina*? I am so glad you asked. :P
Salvatore Riina (1930–2017), called Totò 'u Curtu (Sicilian for 'Totò the Short'), was an Italian mobster and chief of the Sicilian Mafia, known for a ruthless murder campaign that reached a peak in the early 1990s with the assassinations of Antimafia Commission prosecutors Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borsellino, resulting in widespread public outcry and a major crackdown by the authorities. He was also known by the nicknames la belva ["the beast"] and il capo dei capi [the boss of bosses"].
4) Transubstantiation: this is the belief that during Mass, the bread and wine used for Communion become the body and blood of Jesus Christ. It is central to the Catholic faith. According to Catholic Church teachings, "the change of the whole substance of bread into the substance of the Body of Christ and of the whole substance of wine into the substance of the Blood of Christ" (Compendium of the Catechism of the Catholic Church) is brought about in the eucharistic prayer through the efficacy of the word of Christ and by the action of the Holy Spirit. However, "the outward characteristics of bread and wine, that is, the 'eucharistic species,' remain unaltered" (Liturgy of the Eucharist: Eucharistic Prayer).