CHAPTER 101: Children of Fate (Part 5)
London
11:55 p.m.
"CRUCIO!"
The red bolt flew a few inches over Rufus' head, gracing his robes before it collided with a vehicle behind him, blasting one of its doors away. He was breathing hard, his entire body battered and refusing to obey his mind's commands. If he had still been in his prime, Rufus was sure he could have easily taken on the three Death Eaters in front of him, plus a few more. Unfortunately, facing them now as an older man, the night's events had taken a toll on him, and they were hard to ignore.
He launched a set of stunning and incarcerous charms at the Death Eaters, all of which were blocked by the red-haired man and his two accomplices, but were a good enough distraction for his blasting curses to sneak by. There was a cry of pain as one of the curses hit the Death Eater to the left on his foot, sending him crumbling to the ground. While the other two curses also missed their mark, the shrapnel born out of the explosions on the ground still proved deadly for the other two Death Eaters as they were too late to block them.
Without missing a beat, Rufus silently stunned the Death Eater clutching his foot, cutting off his screams. His body then quickly reacted - spotting a Dolohov raising his wand at him. He dodged to the right, evading the green curse hurled towards him before casting a quick charm that parried the other Death Eater's blue curse, directing it towards the street light behind them. The glass shattered with a deafening cry, the countless pieces of glass all colliding on the floor. But Rufus could barely pay attention to them as the Death Eaters pushed forward in their attack.
They were forcing him to retreat, not giving him the chance to apparate away or attempt to counter their attacks as they kept volleying curses at him. Rufus tried deflecting one of their curses back at them, but with Dolohov's reckless use of Unforgivables forcing him to move around rather than depend on a shield, it was impossible to successfully parry the curses from the other Death Eater so that they struck back at them rather than flying all over the street.
Rufus wished he had accepted back-up, but quickly shut down that thought. He stood his ground, even as the Death Eaters kept gaining the upper hand.
"Come on, Scrimmy!" Dolohov screamed, his voice riddled with childlike glee. "Make this more fun!"
"Focus!" The other Death Eater snapped.
Dolohov ignored him, laughing when Rufus acted a little too late and a blue curse struck him right in his left thigh. His leg was suddenly set ablaze with an overwhelming agony, stretching and tearing itself apart from the insides. He dropped to the ground, unwittingly avoiding Dolohov's torture curse as well as the other Death Eater's following attack. And once again he felt instincts take over, his body moving despite him and throwing a blasting curse at the other Death Eater, hitting him square in the chest right before he was launched backward by the sheer power behind that spell.
Two down, but it was too late. Dolohov giggled and rushed towards him, clearly wanting to take his time killing the man who had sent him to Azkaban. But as he was skipping towards Rufus, blissfully rambling, ropes suddenly lashed out from the surrounding darkness. They latched onto his arms, legs, head - any part they could grab. Dolohov's laughter quickly stopped, he fought against the restraints, even managing to tear a few of the ropes apart. But dozens more kept appearing, hoisting him up in the air, prying the wand from his fingers. It rattled against the ground, Dolohov groaning above it as his body was contorted and twisted in painful ways, but he was still very much alive. Mostly unharmed.
"Don't move," Albus Dumbledore's quiet voice ordered from behind him as the man suddenly appeared and began casting various diagnosis charms at his leg.
Rufus would have tried to fight him off, but he could barely make out a few grunts as the nerves and muscles inside his leg kept tearing themselves apart. The pain was blinding, utterly consuming. He could almost feel as if his entire leg was trying to rip itself from his body. There was a blinding white light, one that shone brightly even through his closed eyes, and then the pain began to dissolve, slowly fading away. His leg had stopped trying to tear itself apart, but the relief didn't last more than a second as he tried to move his leg, but it remained unresponsive.
"Albus," he gritted out. "Albus, I can't-"
"Nasty curse," Albus commented, almost absentmindedly. "Foreign. Rather dark… I hadn't seen it in a while." Before Rufus could even say anything, Albus raised his wand and Rufus felt his body being picked up from the ground, straightening itself so that he was lying vertically, hovering only a few inches above the ground. "You'll need it treated. Right away."
"Albus," Rufus complained, but the man was no longer listening to him. Dolohov was abruptly released from the ropes, crashing roughly onto the ground. The man laughed maniacally, crawling, trying to get to his wand, but before he could the ropes all sprung at him again, fully wrapping him until his entire body was covered in the brown material. He struggled against it, like a trying to push itself forward, but Albus' charms were perfect. The other two Death Eaters were suddenly thrown at him, the pile almost seeming glued together when Albus levitated them towards him.
Albus side-alonged them all, immediately throwing them into the chaos of the Auror camp in the centre of London. Aurors were running all around him, some screaming orders while others shouted news or advances that were previously unknown. The camp looked oddly large, and there seemed to be many more Aurors than there used to be when he had left after hearing rumours of Dolohov causing trouble near Westminster.
"We've taken back Glasgow," Albus informed, answering the unasked question. "Seventeen Death Eaters caught, the others got away. Runcorn thought he recognised Karkaroff as the one leading the Death Eaters there, but we couldn't confirm it."
"What of the other cities?"
"Liverpool is still overrun, the werewolves are proving harder than we anticipated. There are only a few more Death Eaters at South Hampshire, but they're few and far between. Besides that, everything has been cleared and the Unspeakables have begun stepping in, pushing us out and quarantining the cities."
Rufus sighed, a pang of pain hitting him and making him shake slightly inside Albus' levitation bubble. Noticing this, Albus quickly handed the pack of three Death Eaters to a couple of Aurors who weren't doing anything and pulled him into the infirmary tent, laying him down on one of the beds while calling for one of the healers.
"Amelia?" Rufus asked, fully knowing the answer.
"We still haven't found her yet," he said, his voice turning mournful for a moment. He didn't try to reassure him or promise him they'd find her. They both knew the most likely scenario, and they were too tired to pretend otherwise.
When the healer reached them Albus pulled her slightly away from Rufus' bed, whispering something into her ear as she nodded carefully, her eyes analysing him while grasping her words. She gave him a quick gesture of thanks before moving towards him. Pulling out a set of potions before she even had the chance to cast any diagnosis charms, the healer looked at him and gave him a kind smile. "We'll fix you up, Head Auror. Don't you worry about that," she handed him a few of the flasks and instructed him to take them.
But before he could his eyes were drawn to the large, silver goat that suddenly galloped into the room. It circled Albus, quickly gaining his attention, before it opened his mouth and spoke in a hissed whisper. Leaning in, Rufus tried to hear what it said, but the oddly familiar voice was raving and nearly unintelligible. "… ert found… it!… under our no… time. Meet… now!" Rufus watched as Albus' face suddenly turned pale. The Patronus disappeared, its lingering presence almost brightening up the room. And before Rufus could ask what happened Fawkes suddenly flew into the tent and burst into a golden-red light that took Albus with it.
Rufus felt as if all the tiredness abruptly left him, and he fought to pull himself off the bed even as his leg refused to cooperate. The healer instantly picked up on it and pushed him on his back, ordering him to stay put. He protested, needing to know what had been so crucial that Albus had disappeared so precipitously, but the healer wouldn't allow it. She fussed over him, giving him a few potions to drink while she began to work on the leg.
The process was long and tedious, involving various steps that Rufus wasn't made privy to. There were various quick and successive charms, treating his leg almost superficially, almost preparing it, before she cast a charm that made the entire skin on his leg translucent, revealing the full extent of the damage. All the muscles on the upper part of his leg had been torn and pulled apart, separated into what looked like hundreds, maybe even thousands, of pieces of muscle completely separated from each other. The healer cast another spell that hid his muscles and revealed the nerves in his leg, all cut off into hundreds of pieces, disconnected from one another just like his muscles had been.
Nasty curse, indeed.
The healer pushed another set of potions at him and swiftly after he had downed them, she began to work on the damage. She only cast one spell, but he felt it immediately, his entire body succumbed with a cold feeling that made him shake erratically. Rufus had rarely witnessed a spell like this, one with such a long incantation and unnerving effect. He watched as she slowly began treating him, the muscles connecting together carefully, one by one, and every time they did Rufus was overcome with what felt like a cold and intense breeze that almost came from inside his body.
It wasn't painful, but it tethered the line between uncomfortable and unbearable.
He was out of commission, he was sure of it. The healer was taking her time, and just when he got the urge to complain and tell her to do it faster, he was hit with another cold wave. Besides, he didn't know what the immediate effect would be after she was done. Would he be able to pick himself up immediately and walk? Maybe. He thought so, at least. But the healer would want him to rest. And seeing the damage, he wasn't sure he'd be able to push his body to do more than a slow walk.
Walking into battle? He might as well use the killing curse on himself.
Rufus growled at the injustice. At the helplessness. The healer didn't say anything, probably attributing it to the effects of the spell, and it only made him angrier. He was the Head Auror. And with Amelia missing he was supposed to be the one out there, leading the charge rather than staying inside the tent and waiting for it all to be over. Rufus was a fighter, he'd been all his life. Never one for politics and subtlety. There were very few things he hated more than sitting by while people took care of business.
He focused on anything other than the fact that he would be useless for the rest of the night. Ignored the healer and the consecutive chills as he tried to force his mind to keep running. This nightmare was nearly over. If Dumbledore was correct that most of the cities had been taken back and the Aurors had already left for Hogwarts, there would only be the issue of the Ministry before they could focus on the immediate damage control and the long-term counter-attacks against the Death Eaters.
After tonight, not even the Minister could deny the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. After tonight, the real war started.
There was a sudden golden light outside, one powerful enough to light up the night so completely, Rufus could see it even from inside the tent. Fawkes' light! Dumbledore was back. There were gasps outside. People murmuring, some even screaming. A full altercation broke out outside, and Rufus was left helpless in his bed. The healer didn't even react to what was happening, her full concentration still on the injury she was treating. It wasn't until someone broke through the flap of the tent and hurried towards them that she broke her gaze from Rufus' leg and turned back to the intruder.
"Now what is the meaning of-" her voice died in her mouth as she realised who she was speaking to. And Rufus, too, couldn't find the words as he stared at Harry Potter, looking frizzled and battered, while Fawkes flew circles over his head. No. Not Fawkes, Rufus quickly realised when he noted the black feathers that covered its back. Another phoenix. A new phoenix. Potter's phoenix.
"The Ministry! Did you get to the Ministry?" He shouted, completely oblivious to the massive shock that paralysed Rufus and the healer. "Scrimgeour!" He snarled at, the phoenix above him growing vexed at their lack of response.
Potter had a phoenix. POTTER HAD A FUCKING PHOENIX! How… What… When… He couldn't comprehend it. His mind couldn't physically process it. He'd studied Potter for months, tracked him down, and felt like he knew him better than anyone else. Rufus had been privy to everything, his entire past, every crime, grand or minuscule, that he'd ever pulled. Potter had a phoenix. What could it mean? What did Fate want from him? For him? The black feathers were impossible to ignore. Dumbledore's phoenix had only a few of them in its wings, but the rest were either red, golden, or orange. But nearly half of the feathers from Potter's phoenix were black. It wasn't mostly black like Morgana's phoenix was rumoured to be, or fully black like Emeric's phoenix, but it was half black.
But it was also half bright, with its red and orange colours shining proudly. Red and orange like Dumbledore and Gryffindor himself before him. That shouldn't be possible. Rufus knew Potter, he knew him better than anyone. He had been a victim, sure, but he was a murderer. Relentless, vicious, monstrous. He'd sentenced an innocent girl to Azkaban to escape his crimes. He'd murdered almost carelessly for the past few months, stuck in his obsession with revenge. Someone like that shouldn't have been able to produce a phoenix as bright and beautiful as this.
And yet he had.
"Scrimgeour!"
Potter's voice pulled him out of his mind. The healer had long turned back to her work, though she seemed more distracted than before, and Rufus was left once again speechless for a moment, his mind completely torn about what to think of this. More than the concept of Potter's morality, Fate didn't hand out phoenixes away haphazardly. There was always a reason. A motive. A prophecy behind them and a manner of earning them. What had Potter done? What was he supposed to do? What prophecy was he connected to?
"No," Rufus heard himself grit out, his body had taken over and started talking for him. "We tried to access it, but it's been completely shut down. The floos have been disconnected, portkey and apparition wards put into place. My men are working on getting in as we speak."
"That's not good enough," Potter snapped, his phoenix becoming more anxious even as he stood still. "We need to get inside. We need to get in there now." He bit his lip, looking like he wanted to throw a fit before he began pacing around.
"I need a group of Aurors. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. I don't care how much. Tell them they're coming with me to the Ministry. Now!"
"Excuse me?" Rufus asked, almost disbelievingly. "You want me to give you an Auror squad? You? Tonight of all nights as well?"
"Longbottom's been captured," Potter barked out. "He's at the Ministry, surrounded by Death Eaters, right now! And you're refusing to help me?"
"You shouldn't even be out here, to begin with," Rufus snarled, feeling the stubbornness he always tried to push down clawing its way back up. He knew very well he would have died tonight if it hadn't been for Potter. He knew that there was a reason why he had been granted a phoenix. But there was something, deep inside him, that didn't trust him. Something he couldn't shake off no matter how much a part of him wanted to.
"My men will break through the Ministry's protections, sooner or later, and when they do, they'll handle the situation. You will not be the least involved."
"The hell I won't! By the time your useless men get into the building, everyone there will be dead."
"I will not order my men to follow your orders," Rufus yelled out, quickly ending the discussion as the phoenix suddenly dropped to Harry's shoulder and glared at Rufus. "And you will not interfere with an active DMLE affairs. Get out of my sight before I have you arrested."
"Don't fool yourself, Head Auror," Harry said coldly. "You'd only be wasting my time."
Azkaban
May 2nd, 1996
12:00 a.m.
Bedivere analysed the snake in front of him, tracked its movements carefully, and searched it for every little detail. This had been his best work so far, it looked identical to the Dark Lord's familiar. Even the small ritual he had performed, one that gave the snake the same vile, dark aura that Nagini had was close enough to the actual Horcrux that he couldn't tell the difference between both snakes. And yet, as he looked at it, he was hesitant. He only needed to cast the imperius charm, ordering the animal to follow all the Dark Lord's commands and to answer him whenever he talked to her. But that was the biggest flaw of his plan.
Replicating the snake had been hard, and creating a similar effect that the Horcrux exuded from the snake had forced him to use some rather dark magic, one that would have certainly killed him had the Threads of Fate not been the only thing powering his body at the moment. But cloning that intimate connection between the snake and the Dark Lord was all but impossible. This would only be a temporary half-measure, one that would only work for a few days before the Dark Lord realised what had happened. And even if it all turned out perfect tonight, even if they got hold of all the Horcruxes, the process to destroy them would take months.
With a living Horcrux, it was different. They wouldn't need to slowly transfer the soul piece into another living person given how it was already in a living being. A killing curse on the snake would exterminate the soul piece inside it. Which is why it was best for last. It wasn't necessary, and unless they wanted to reveal their knowledge of the Horcruxes, killing her or supplanting her would only hurt their mission.
With a heavy heart and a profound aggravation, he dispelled the copy of the snake and left the Dark Lord's chamber before he got back from wherever he was.
He had been relieved when he figured out the snake was the Horcrux that Corban's map was pointing out in Azkaban. Now, though, he was only worried about what other future complications would arise because of it.
The prison was completely empty, all the Death Eaters and inmates still out there in Britain wreaking havoc for the Dark Lord. The lack of anyone inside the walls gave Bedivere the perfect opportunity to stop a few floors below and look to the tattoo on his left arm. The mark had been his own design, and he was proud of how much more versatile it was compared to the Dark Lord's efforts. He had been given a gift by the sheer amount of information held within this Department of Mysteries, and he had not let it go to waste.
Bedivere closed his eyes and focused on his target. Augustus had been reluctant to get the mark, and though Bedivere was sure he'd later inspect it clearer for a way to remove some of the more unwanted effects its users didn't know about, he hadn't had the time to do so before tonight. He wouldn't let the opportunity go to waste.
Opening them, Bedivere found himself in the middle of a collapsed muggle home. The walls had been destroyed, the structure itself crumbling beneath him. It was completely dark, with nothing but the fires outside to light the inside of the house. Pictures shattered on the ground. Books torn with their pages littering the floor. There were a couple of burnt-up corpses right in front of him, the remnants of the chaotic battle that had happened here but was now fully replaced by the eerie silence. The only thing that could be heard was the frantic movements he was taking. He was looking everywhere, beneath the furniture, inside the drawers and cupboards, desperately searching around the place.
Bedivere quickly pulled back, returning to the gray walls that surrounded him. That had not been what he had been expecting from going into Augustus' mind, but there was no reason why the man would be betraying him. Augustus wanted the Dark Lord dead just as much as him. He was being actively hunted by him and the rest of the Pantheon because of his betrayal. There must have been a reason why he was searching for the Horcrux in London inside that muggle house. He'd have to wait until they convened at Parkinson Palace to ask him if the map had brought him there or if he'd gone on another errand.
Taking the plunge again, Bedivere focused on his other objective. He appeared in a dark forest, a small orb of light flying around him as he felt his body continue walking forward, getting deeper and deeper until a shack could be seen in the distance. Compact and decrepit, it looked like it had been standing there for centuries. Bedivere didn't recognise it immediately, but he immediately sensed the magic pouring all around him. Thankfully, Kieran had felt them as well because he stopped and tried to gently test their boundaries.
That had to be it, another one of the Dark Lord's hiding places. This one, though, seemed heavily protected. From just the feel of the wards, they had been far more powerful than those the Knights of Walpurgis had cast on the locket when they had stolen it from Corban. Bedivere immediately pulled out of his grandson's mind and used the mark to call him. Kieran answered, appearing similar to a ghost right beside him.
"I think I've found it, grandfather," the boy said.
"I'll join you," Bedivere said calmly. "Send me the apparition coordinates. Don't make a move until I'm there with you."
"Alright," Kieran nodded. "The whole place has anti-portkey and apparition wards, so you're going to have to walk a bit. I'll wait for you here."
The ghost of his grandson disappeared from beside him and a few moments later Bedivere saw the coordinates slowly form on the spot right below the tattoo. He committed them to memory, watching as they disappeared after only a few seconds, and he immediately headed over to the apparition point of the prison where he disapparated as soon as he reached it.
Bedivere created another orb of light, giving him a vision of the dark, twisted forest around him. There was something off about this place, it would put the best of men on edge. And it was exactly the confirmation he wanted that the Horcrux was somewhere nearby. The trees themselves were tall and ominous, and the shadows the light cast seemed to be almost alive. Watching him. From the corner of his eye, Bedivere could have sworn they were almost following him.
He didn't need directions, the vile stench from the Dark Magic was clear even from over a mile away.
The forest itself hissed as he got closer and closer to the shack he knew awaited him. He could feel the moment, the snakes that slithered right beside him, trying to scare him off. A way to keep people away from the Dark Lord's Horcrux, no doubt. A security measure that would surely activate the moment he got within reach of the wards protecting the Horcrux. There were dozens of them, perhaps even a hundred given the size of the forest. He could hear them, feel them, and yet, even with the light, he could not see them.
Bedivere would have to be extra careful with how he tore down the Dark Lord's wards.
The tattoo on his arm suddenly blazed again, and there was a moment of panic where Bedivere had mistaken from which arm the call had come through. It wasn't the Dark Lord. It wasn't a Death Eater. Harry was the one calling him, appearing by his side - a similar ghostly apparition to Kieran's earlier one. His clothes were ragged and torn, his long hair standing at every which way. He looked like he'd been fighting the entire night, and yet, he seemed to have more life and energy than ever before.
"Where are you?" the boy asked roughly, not wasting a second.
Bedivere kept his answer calm. "I'm with Kieran, we've found another one of them."
"A Horcrux?" He hissed out and Bedivere nodded. For some reason, his answer had left Potter more conflicted. "I need your help."
Bedivere fully stopped from walking, turning to Harry with a raised eyebrow. It hadn't been a demand, but a request. "What do you need?"
"Longbottom went to the Ministry-"
"No," Bedivere answered curtly.
"The Death Eaters have him. If they have him, they can get to your stupid prophecy."
"Perhaps, but having you there will only complicate things. Worse, you could die. And if that happens, this war is lost regardless of what we do."
"I can't just stay here and do nothing," He growled, his voice starting to gain a little more of that colour it usually had.
"You're going to have to. You're too important to risk."
"I can't." There was a weird sound that came from Harry's end, but Bedivere couldn't see what had made them. "I'm going. And if it's without your help, then so be it."
He couldn't allow Potter to do that. Pansy had been meant to stop him when he showed up to Hogwarts earlier in the night. He'd ordered her as much. Why hadn't she? It had been bad enough that she had failed to stop Longbottom and the others even after he had warned them with time. But now Longbottom was at the Ministry, and now Potter seemed dead set on going as well even though the aftermath could prove catastrophic. "We talked about this, Harry. You have to be smart. If you're not-"
"I know! I bloody know. Why do you think I'm here talking to you rather than rushing straight into the fucking Ministry!"
"Being smart would be not to go. There's nothing that could be gained from this."
"Maybe not," Harry conceded. "But it could lessen our losses.
Longbottom and his friends wouldn't be too great a loss. He had marked them for dead the moment they walked into the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables would not allow them to leave once they had made it inside and knowing just how much the Unspeakables valued their secrets, he wasn't about to interfere on their behalf. Of course, he couldn't voice this out loud. There was something he was missing, something Bedivere didn't know about Harry or his relationship with these kids that had driven him this far.
He wouldn't be talked out of it, and unless he planned to abandon his quest for the Horcrux to stop the boy, and risk alienating him by doing so, he couldn't do anything. Bedivere had known he would be forced to face times like this. Dealing with Harry Potter, in any universe, was an exhaustive task. And given how Harry had to act on his own accord, ruling out the imperius curse or any other methods to control the boy, Bedivere knew there were times when he'd be forced to watch as the boy took risks like this one.
Still, it was a stupid course of action. One Bedivere resented greatly. But maybe it was something necessary for him to step up and fulfil his destiny. Maybe this was Fate in play. Even after everything Longbottom was at the Ministry, and now Harry was heading there. This could be Fate at play and he wouldn't even know it. It would definitely explain why all his attempts to stop these outcomes had fallen flat. Maybe this would set off a chain of events that proved to be worth it in the long run. Or most likely, it would be a fruitless effort that would only serve to buy Bedivere and the others more time to gather the rest of the Horcruxes. And by this point, he had to play with the cards he had been granted.
"Talk to Augustus," Bedivere sighed. "He'll tell you how to get into the Department of Mysteries. The mark on your arm will allow you to bypass the wards and traverse it freely."
"Traverse it freely?"
"You'll understand when you get there."
"Thank you," Harry nodded solemnly, and then his ghost dissipated, leaving Bedivere alone once again.
It was a horrible decision, one born out of emotion rather than intelligence. And Bedivere couldn't stop thinking about it as he continued down the forest. The Threads were punishing him, he knew that. With as much as he knew about the future and as much access he had to occult and powerful magic, he was still mostly useless to do anything of value here. Even his efforts tonight seemed to be failing horribly. Even his attempts to stop Potter from ending in the Ministry had all backfired against him or had never even worked in the first place. Fate was a complex, infuriating force, but if he'd learned something, it was that no matter how much he tried to control it. He would never be able to subvert it.
Not truly.
The only thing he could do was engineer a few changes and hope they would prove to be the added push that would be needed to make sure the Dark Lord didn't succeed this time.
He couldn't focus on that. Tonight, he had bigger concerns if he wanted to play his part.
After a few minutes of walking Kieran's orb of light appeared in the distance. The magic around him began getting thicker and thicker, and he could almost see the Dark Lord's wards as solid, physical walls rather than the invisible, intangible magic they actually were.
"Grandfather," Kieran called out, offering him his arm as he helped Bedivere the last few steps before they reached the edge of the ward. "You feel them too, don't you?"
"Yes," he whispered, running his hand across the boundary of the wards, feeling as it crackled against his fingers. He took a few minutes to explore them before he pulled out his wand, feeling its layers and defences, already trying to decipher how he would go about bringing them down, or subverting them just enough so that they allow him entry unharmed. It wouldn't be easy. There would be various sacrifices he would have to make just to cross through the first layer of wards. And the closer he got to the shack the more complex and taxing the wards would become.
Finally, he turned to Kieran, who was looking at him with a mixture of awe and academic curiosity. Of course, the boy would want to remain.
"This is the place," he nodded before turning to his grandson with an appreciative smile. As he had expected, the boy flushed at the praise. "I'm going to retrieve the Horcrux. While I do so, I have another favour to ask you."
The glee faded, if only slightly, and Kieran looked conflicted, almost hurt, at his request to leave. "What is it, grandfather?" He ended up voicing. "What do you want me to do?"
Department of Mysteries
12:20 a.m.
They were here. Finally, after well over an hour, they had found the place the Death Eaters had been anxiously looking for. The Hall of Prophecies. Neville had heard rumours of its existence when he was a kid, it was one of the few places known about from the Department of Mysteries. Or well, at least from the fake one used to conceal this one. There, the Hall of Prophecies was rumoured to be nearly endless, with thousands of towering shelves filled with prophecies. But here, the room couldn't have been larger than the Great Hall. And instead of endless stacks of shelves with countless orbs of prophecies, here there were only thirteen. Twelve orbs, each held up by their own respective marble pillar. And all around them were hundreds of parchments of notes, all of them written in a foreign alphabet. One Neville couldn't recognise, nor could he believe anyone other than the Unspeakables would.
Illustrations. There were even various different drawings of what could only be timelines. A deep, thorough research about each of the prophecies. Neville couldn't even begin to wonder what all the notes detailed, what could be so important or complex that would be studied for decades, if not centuries, by the Unspeakables. Nothing he'd seen in divination could even come close to any of this.
There was also something about the room. Something that differentiated it even from the other rooms in the Department of Mysteries. And that was saying a lot. The Department of Mysteries had revealed countless things that would haunt whatever nightmares he had left after tonight. There had been the room with the various corpses of Veela and other magical creatures that were the deformed failed experiments of the Unspeakables. Another room with nothing but a hundred-foot hourglass that forced him to relive various memories of other people in the room for what felt like an eternity. Another one focused on phoenixes and what looked to be plans to steal Fawkes from Dumbledore at some point in the future. And worst of all was one of the Death rooms, filled with dozens of different inferi-type creatures. Gruesome corpses that had been brought back from the dead, but some seemed to have more mental power than regular inferi. Others even having a twisted version of a soul, or something close that made them almost like people.
This room though, felt different from all the others. It had a feeling or a presence in it. One he had never felt before and was oddly similar to something he had felt in the room with the massive hourglass. It almost felt like the sensation he experienced when he had his first bout of accidental magic or when he finally got a wand that bonded with his magical core. And yet… it wasn't anything like that. It was completely different and yet nearly identical. He couldn't explain it, and though most of the things inside the Department of Mysteries had nearly paralysed him, this wasn't one of them.
"Mister Longbottom," Zeus - or as he now knew him after spending some time inside his memories, Lucius Malfoy - said gleefully. He still refused to take off his mask and kept denying it when Neville had tried to confront him, but once he'd realised it there was no denying it was him. "I believe this is where you do your part."
Neville felt that same spark of anger rise again, one that had only tripled when he realised it was Malfoy who was behind this. Malfoy who had opened the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago. Malfoy who had never failed to take a chance to ridicule and attack the Weasley or Hermione, and who now had a firm grip over the back of her neck. Malfoy hadn't let go of him since the first time they were transported to another room. And once luck had reunited them with a nearly destroyed Hermione, Malfoy hadn't hesitated in grabbing her too in case Neville needed a little reminder of what would happen if he didn't comply.
Of course, she wasn't necessary here. Ron and Fred had appeared with them in the Hall of Prophecies as well. And for the first time, there were more of them than there were Death Eaters, with only one more cloaked figure besides Malfoy keeping them in check. Neville idly wondered if this could be their chance. If they could somehow overpower Malfoy and the Death Eaters and escape. They could maybe even take back their wands, and use the fact the rooms were displacing them to fight back. It had been Malfoy who had taken the Unbreakable Vow to spare the others after Neville gave him the prophecy and handed himself in, not the other way around. He could attack and try to escape, and the Vow wouldn't kill him.
The Death Eaters had been getting more alarmed as the night went on. It was clear they hadn't been expecting the Department of Mysteries to play around with them like this. It took the control out of their hands, and it even helped the kids escape the Death Eaters, even if it was for only a few moments. And they weren't hiding their displeasure, taking to torture the Weasleys and Hermione to vent out their frustrations and prove their point that they were serious. Artemis especially seemed rather happy to be away from Malfoy's prying eye where she was finally given the chance to torture and torment as she pleased.
With the Death Eaters getting more and more rowdy by the minute, he could no longer stall. He needed to either hand in the prophecy or try to make a move and escape them. The only problem was, they didn't know how they were going to get out of here in the first place. Malfoy knew, Neville was sure of it. He knew how to get in, he must know the way out. And if Neville tried to attack them and failed to escape, the Death Eaters might kill some of his friends as punishment for it and then force him to give them the prophecy either way.
No. There was no way out of here. Not for him. He had promised he wouldn't let one more person die because of him, and he would make sure of that.
Malfoy was smiling underneath his mask, and Neville somehow knew that Malfoy had been well aware of his inner conflict and had chosen to let it play out. A little bit of amusement for him before he finally got what he wanted. "No time like the present," he reminded Neville haughtily. And Neville knew that behind those callous words, there would be a serious reckoning if the room pushed them out before Neville had retrieved the prophecy.
There was no time to waste.
"Neville don't," Ron called out from behind him as he started moving through the room, taking in the orbs as he read their inscription. He began to grow quickly concerned, most of the tags only showing question marks, with some actually having names written down, but not names Neville would recognise.
"Neville," Hermione's weak protest echoed across the room, and Neville winced when he heard Malfoy throw her to the ground carelessly. No longer needing to hold onto her.
"Neville, mate," Fred warned.
Their words fell on deaf ears, and Neville shouldn't have worried about being unable to find the right prophecy. It was the lonely one at the head of the room, a crystal orb that had bright red smoke inside it, and underneath there was a parchment that read: The Dark Lord and (?) Neville Longbottom.
Beyond the colour of the smoke, there wasn't anything particular about it. He didn't know what to expect when he pictured it. Maybe a voice calling out to him, or the orb almost itching to fly towards him. But he felt none of that. There was only the power that emanated from it. Not magical power, not in the way Neville knew it, at least. And he couldn't help but be entranced by that feeling.
This was it, Neville realised right as he began to extend his hand towards the orb. This was the night Voldemort finally killed him.
Grimmauld Place
12:20 a.m.
He was wasting his time. Scrimgeour, the bastard, had proven to be as helpful as ever, and even though Rookwood had reluctantly told him the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, no one from Bedivere's group had been willing to help him. It was clear neither Bedivere nor Rookwood wanted him to go, and yet, besides offering stupid moral support, they weren't any help.
But he couldn't go alone. Harry may have lost his fucking mind by being unable to get rid of the urgent need to go save the fuckers at the Department of Mysteries, but that didn't mean he had completely lost his brain and decided to go alone. Without back-up. Against inner circle Death Eaters while he was still far from being back at full power. The effects of his magic that had come from Aurora's birth had slowly faded away a few minutes after the phoenix appeared to him. And though he felt his magic charged back up completely, as if he'd just woken up from a long nap rather than being fighting constantly for over three hours, his spells would prove subpar compared to the curses the Death Eaters would hurl at him.
And if his experience with Ares had given him any insight into the other inner circle Death Eaters, it was that they were much more skilled than the average thug.
He'd tried to get help from Scrimgeour and the Aurors and that had quickly gone to shit - the only positive experience out of that had been seeing Dolohov tied up and wandless, captured by the Aurors. And if getting to mock the bastard for getting caught and telling him that he knew the Death Eater's true plan hadn't been good enough, his reaction once he saw Harry's phoenix had made the time wasted completely worth it. In a second, the jokes and laughter stopped, and for the first time since he'd met him, the man looked murderous with rage.
Seeing Dolohov's smirk wiped like that had been nearly as satisfying as using the Room of Requirement to capture Montague.
And now that he had searched through London for Dumbledore and hadn't found him, and had even asked Bedivere and the others for help, he had no other choice than to go to the last place where he might actually find Dumbledore. He hoped he was there. Harry couldn't think of any other place where the old man would be. And if he was going to risk his life and head down to the Department of Mysteries because his stupid soul or body or whatever didn't let him ignore it, then the best thing he could do was to bring one of the most powerful wizards alive with him.
It wasn't a group of trained Aurors, and it wasn't two Unspeakables who knew their way around the place. But it was the third-best thing in this scenario. Then again, maybe Dumbledore had been a better idea than fifty Aurors from the get-go.
Grasping onto Aurora as she was flying above him, Harry felt the immediate wave of heat as a circle of fire encompassed him, nearly blinded him, before he appeared right at the footsteps of Grimmauld Place. It wasn't that he had to use Aurora to apparate all the time, but Harry couldn't help but bask in the feeling of warmth that he felt when they apparated together. It was like being hugged, or what being hugged should make him feel like. In those few moments, he almost felt like he had whenever he held his original wand.
Pushing the door open, Harry rushed inside only to encounter the utter chaos that Grimmauld Place had become. There were people everyone. Running around the place. Shouting for orders or pleas of help. It seemed the Order was more involved in helping stop the Death Eater attacks than he had originally thought, and they were suffering from it. There were various people injured, being tended on by Fleur Delacour or Mrs Weasley, though he didn't recognise any of them. And as he got deeper into the house, he saw three bodies that had been covered with a sheet - their death.
He couldn't tell who they were, but seeing Andromeda Tonks leaning over one of the corpses, crying hysterically, gave him an insight as to who one might be. Harry gave a brief look around the room. Most of the main fighters weren't there - Moody, Kingsley, that one Weasley boy - quickly eliminating the possibility of asking Dumbledore to take someone else with them. Well, maybe someone else could prove to be good cannon fodder for the Death Eaters to target. Lupin came to mind as Harry spotted him at that moment. He looked stuck in his own world, and Harry quickly noticed the symptoms of shock. Something bad had clearly happened to him tonight.
Not bad enough, a part of Harry's mind whispered, and he couldn't help but agree with it.
No one paid him any attention even as he got deeper and deeper into the room. Even with the large phoenix flying only a few feet above him, they were all so centred on helping their inured Harry almost felt invisible. And then she saw him, a sob of relief escaped her mouth as she lunged forward at him and captured him in a tight hug. "Thank you," she cried into his shoulder. "Arthur told me what you did… first my Ron and Ginny and now Arthur… I don't think I could ever thank you enough."
Harry awkwardly wrapped his arm around her, confused for a moment before he remembered the red-headed man he had pushed out of danger earlier at the bridge. He would have never known that was Arthur Weasley if no one had brought it up again. "It's nothing," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Really."
"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay. I was so worried," she whispered to him, tearing herself away from him before she looked up and gasped once she noticed the phoenix that had just perched itself on his shoulder. "Oh, Merlin," she breathed out, gently extending her hand towards Aurora who nuzzled her beak against it before preening proudly. Mrs Weasley gave a small giggle at the phoenix's behaviour before her ears began looking between Aurora and Harry. Her grin widened, and Harry could have sworn he saw tears welling up behind her eyes.
She was looking at him with unbridled joy, and Harry could only wonder what it had been about the phoenix that elicited this reaction.
"What are you doing here?" A nasty voice suddenly screeched, and Harry looked past Mrs Weasley as the entire room suddenly stopped, and he became the centre of attention. People gasped as they saw the phoenix, some even gave a weird sound at it. Every time the phoenix had brought a similar reaction from anyone who saw it, making Harry more confused each time. But Harry's focus wasn't on Aurora at the moment, but on the hate-filled glare Andromeda Tonks was giving him.
This was why he hadn't wanted to come back to Grimmauld Place.
Harry ignored him, turning back to Mrs Weasley as he tried to whisper to her. "Where's Dumbledore? I need to talk to him, it's urgent." But with the dead silence that had settled in the room, it was loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Dumbledore?" Some member Harry didn't know asked.
"What do you want with Dumbledore?" Andromeda demanded.
The room was quickly filled with murmurs, with most of the Order members turning at him with clear distaste and suspicion. Thankfully, Mrs Weasley ignored them all as she kept her focus on him. "Albus?" She asked. "The last time someone saw him, he was in London."
"I was just there, and I couldn't find him."
"Harry, what's happened?" He almost flinched by the tone of her voice. It wasn't hard or accusingly, but soft, almost innocently. How was he supposed to tell her that four of her children had been kidnapped by Aurors. And as she looked at him, he realised that he couldn't bring himself to lie to her.
"Lon…" Harry sighed. "Neville was lured to the Ministry by Death Eaters," Mrs Weasley gasped and Harry was forced to press forward before he lost his nerve. "Ginny, Ron, and the twins followed him. They're all trapped there." Mrs Weasley looked like she was about to crumble to the ground and sob in despair, but somehow she didn't. Despite the clear pain and anguish she was in, she managed to stay standing.
"My babies," she said in a shaky whisper. "My babies… my poor babies."
"I'm going to get them," Harry said, his voice now more determined than ever. "I'm going to get them, but I need to get Dumbledore. I can't do this alone."
"I don't know where Dumbledore is," Mrs Weasley said in a panic. "Oh, Merlin. How long have they been there? They can't… they aren't…"
"No," Harry lied, not knowing the answer but unable to say anything. "No. And I'm going to save them, I swear."
But Harry's words didn't seem to get through to Mrs Weasley. The mere statement had sent her into shock, leading to her ramble through mutterings, trying to reassure herself that her children were still alive. That this wasn't happening. And the fact that Harry couldn't do or say anything to help right then and there was killing him.
"He's lying," Andromeda's voice was suddenly the loudest of the entire Order. It was vile, almost sounding as hateful as Sirius himself had when he had snapped his wand all those months ago. "You can't trust him. He's done nothing but lie this entire time."
"Why the hell would I come here then?" Harry asked testily.
Andromeda stepped forward, putting her arms around Molly in a superficial attempt to comfort her. "I can't say, but it's nothing good. Why else would you suddenly come here? Claiming to be trying to help the people you hate. You end up killing random people on the street who you don't even know, and we're supposed to think you're trying to save someone like Longbottom who you actively hate?"
"That's not what you thought of me before."
"I was wrong before. I should have listened to my cousin. You've done nothing but prove him right ten times over since you escaped and nearly killed him."
"Andy," Lupin tried to defend him meekly but was silenced by her glare.
"What? You're trying to defend him now? Right after you got my daughter killed?"
Lupin looked almost as if he had been struck, and cowered back into the corner of the room.
"Dumbledore may have ignored everything you have done these past few months, but the rest of the Order hasn't. We should have listened to my cousin when we had the chance. For all we know, you may have been behind the attacks tonight and are only here pretending to try to help out in a sick attempt to keep manipulating us."
"I warned Dumbledore about these attacks," Harry said, his voice calm yet cold.
"And how exactly did you know about them? If you're really not involved at all, how do you know Neville and the other kids have been kidnapped without no one else figuring it out. You may have been getting a free pass from Dumbledore, but not from us," the room chorused in agreement, riled up as Andromeda took charge. "It's time for you to leave. You're not welcome here anymore."
"The hell he isn't!" Mrs Weasley's thunderous scream silenced the cheers and murmurs of agreement. "This boy has risked his life time and time again to save my children. He saved my husband and who knows how many others tonight at the bridge. If he's here telling me my children are in danger then you better be sure I believe him, Andromeda Tonks. And if he's here looking for Dumbledore and one of you knows where he is, this is your time to speak!"
The following silence that filled the room was deafening, and though some might still be in shock about Mrs Weasley's sudden outburst, it was clear to Harry that none of them actually knew where Dumbledore was.
"Molly, you can't-"
"That's quite enough, Andromeda," Mrs Weasley said coldly. "What happened to Nymphadora was terrible, and I feel sorry for you. I truly do. But that doesn't give you the right to come here and heckle this poor boy who's just trying to help. You and your husband didn't want to partake in the Order's business before Harry came along, and if you don't like how Dumbledore does things or who I choose to trust, then you can go back to stepping away from the war."
Andromeda looked gutted, Mrs Weasley might have been a little less cruel if she had outright slapped her. And yet, Harry felt nothing but intense satisfaction and a surge of affection for Mrs Weasley's quick support for him, finally quelling any small, lingering doubts he may have had about going to the Department of Mysteries. Seeing that Mrs Weasley would not budge, Andromeda nodded to herself and stepped away, going back to sitting at the side of Tonk's corpse as she silently cried to herself.
And though most of the Order members were still giving Harry suspicious or sometimes outright hateful looks, they all went back to business, none of them daring to stand up to her.
"Albus must still be out there," Mrs Weasley said quietly, bringing Harry's attention back to her. "Trying to finish sorting this thing out. Maybe… maybe he'll get here soon. Maybe…"
"No," Harry shook his head. "No, we can't wait for him. I've searched for long enough already. I'm going there now."
"Alone? No, Harry, you could die! It's extremely dangerous."
"I'll be fine, I promise," Harry tried to reassure her, but she wasn't having it.
"No, if you're going then I'm coming with you."
"What? No!" He snapped, maybe a little harsher than he ought to have. All the thoughts of grabbing cannon fodder quickly escaped him as dozens of different scenes with Mrs Weasley getting murdered right in front of him consumed him. No. No. He was going down there to save her kids. He would not get her killed in the process.
"They're my children. I won't stay here and wait until I can do something to help them."
"You could stay here and wait for Dumbledore-"
"No," Mrs Weasley shook her head. "That's final, Harry. I'm going. Even if you aren't, I have to try."
In all the scenarios he'd pictured that he'd run through before coming to Grimmauld Place, having Molly Weasley follow him to the freight had never even entered his mind. And now that impossible thought was cementing itself into his reality. He'd already lost his parents. He lost Susan. He would not lose Mrs Weasley. He would not let her die. She was set on going with him, there was no stopping that now. But he could come up with finding ways to make her help while keeping her safe. But he still needed someone to come with him. A little bit of back-up for the fight ahead.
Beggars couldn't be choosers. Not if it meant Mrs Weasley's life was in danger because of it.
Bedivere was now down to the last ward. It had taken him nearly a full half-hour, but he'd managed to slowly dismantle the defences protecting the shack in front of him. He was so close now, he could very well see the snake corpse that had been nailed to the wall. The dust beyond the windows of the small shack. And though Bedivere couldn't actually see it, he knew the Horcrux was inside.
All his knowledge had come in handy as he made his way through the wards, with some of the more occult spells the Unspeakables kept in their records allowing him to circumvent some of the most perilous sacrifices required to move forward. He had still been forced to let the snakes bite his legs and draw blood for every layer of the wards that he passed, and the deeper he got into the radius of the wards, the weaker and less connected to his magic he felt.
And with the snake bites refusing to heal themselves even after Bedivere attempted his most powerful healing charms, on them, he was forced to continue as he slowly bled into his socks and shoes.
Walking forward, Bedivere allowed a small grunt of pain as another set of snakes moved forward and bit him, draining more blood before they scurried away. Limping forward, breathing heavily, Bedivere raised his wand and was about to start working on the wards before he stopped abruptly as a blood-curdling, high-pitched sound suddenly screeched behind him. Bedivere turned around and felt all the blood drain from his face as he watched a massive mass of darkness flying directly at him.
The cloud of darkness passed through the wards easily, but instead of crashing down in front of him it flew past him and broke through the window of the shack. And Bedivere watched in horror as the Dark Lord emerged from the shadows.
Neville's hand slowly surged forward, almost shaking as it reached for the orb in front of him. All his friends behind him continued to yell out, begging him not to do this, but Neville continued. He pushed through as hard as he could, almost feeling an invisible barrier there in between the orb and his hand, stopping him from reaching it. At first, he thought it was his nervousness. Something in his imagination. But the more he pushed at it, the more he felt it.
There was something there, pushing back at him. Stopping him from grabbing the prophecy.
Another protection from the Unspeakables, Neville was sure. A way to make sure no one retrieved the prophecy from its rightful place. And yet, Neville felt himself make headway, slowly but surely getting his hand closer to the orb. Malfoy had told him only someone connected to the prophecy could grab it. Neville was sure that if the others had tried, they wouldn't have been as successful as he was.
He just needed to keep pushing. Just a little bit closer. A few more inches.
Using all his strength, Neville gave that final push and broke through the barrier, grabbing the orb with his right hand and pulling it up, out of its pedestal.
His world suddenly exploded in pain when his entire right arm was suddenly set ablaze. He immediately dropped the prophecy, the orb immediately reappeared back in its pedestal, and he dropped to the ground. The pain was unbearable, almost as much as the cruciatus curse as his entire arm was rapidly scorched.
Neville gripped onto it and screamed, the rest of the flames staying firmly in his arm even as they came into contact with his robes. And then he felt it, just barely, a hundred cuts all at once. An invisible force slashed at his arm faster than he thought possible. The tips of his fingers began falling off, quickly spreading as his hand and then most of his arm continued to fall onto the ground in black piles of scorched meat.
He wailed and threw himself on the ground, the pain relentless as his entire arm was suddenly cut from his body. And with a finally searing pain at the edge of his shoulder, it suddenly stopped abruptly. Leaving him panting on the ground, sitting right beside the burned-up remains of his right arm.
"Alright," Harry nodded, his voice no louder than a whisper. "You'll come with me. But I could use your help first."
Mrs Weasley tilted her head, analysing him for a few moments before she responded. "What do you need me to do?"
"Go to Lupin… and tell him I'm asking him to come with us." He forced the words out, hating himself for even saying them.
"Just like that?" Mrs Weasley asked sceptically. "Do you think that'll convince him?"
"No," Harry shook his head. "Not unless you tell him I sent you. Tell him… that this is how he makes things right."
"Why can't you tell him that?"
Harry sighed, tearing his eyes away from Mrs Weasley as he looked at the door on the other side of the room. "Because I have to do something else first."
"Gellert, are you sure?" Albus asked gravely, already knowing the answer.
Aberforth wouldn't have called him up to Glasgow if it hadn't been urgent. Seeing Gellert and Aberforth almost seem even a little amicable towards each other put into context just how urgent the situation truly was. Gellert had explained his research, and cited his sources, and Aberforth had even backed him up.
But Albus still couldn't believe it. If it was true… If they were right…
"Positive, Albus," Gellert replied sombrely.
"You know what this means," Aberforth spoke up, and a silence settled between the group. "You know where it could be."
He did, Albus only hoped it was still there.
"I said get up, Longbottom," Malfoy's snarl sounded almost like a whisper from far away, but Neville was broken out of his shock when Hermione suddenly began howling and thrashing against the ground. The effect was instantaneous, Neville immediately picked him up on his feet and looked pleadingly at Malfoy - who dropped the curse. "Time is running out. Grab that orb now."
Neville felt himself start coming back to his senses, his mind finally processing the world around him. He could hear Hermione crying softly, curled up in a ball on the ground. Ron and Fred were struggling against the Death Eater, trying and failing to rush to Hermione's aid. When Neville stood there, shocked, Lucius walked over to him and shoved him back toward the prophecy orb. The orb that had burned up his arm. His right arm. His wand arm. Even if he somehow got his wand back, he wouldn't be able to use it anymore. Not for a duel anyway. Not for what mattered.
His life was over even if he somehow managed to escape.
Neville's eyes trailed down the orb and stared at the piece of parchment below the prophecy.
The Dark Lord and (?) Neville Longbottom
The Dark Lord and (?)
(?)
Neville felt his blood run cold as the pieces started falling into place. His entire body tensed, and he dared not to turn back to the Death Eaters or his friends. They were dead. They were all dead. Once Malfoy figured it out, he would kill them all.
"Pick it up, Longbottom," Malfoy demanded. "Pick it up now!"
Mrs Weasley followed his eyes, looking past all the Order members around the living room before she noticed where she was looking. Her face paled slightly, and she looked up at him with concern. "Are you sure?"
He didn't answer her. The words felt heavy in his mouth, he doubted he would be able to speak them even if he tried. Instead, he gently walked past her, moving across the room as all the eyes from the Order members turned to him as he crossed through the living room. Aurora was beginning to get agitated as she flew above him, but Harry didn't know if she was trying to warn the Order members from doing anything or if she was trying to get him to stop.
Harry thought the walk would have felt eternal. That it would have felt hard and heavy, but he found himself in front of the knob before his mind realised it. His body acted on instinct, opening the door before he stepped inside. He was immediately hit with a musty scent, one he knew very well, and it didn't stop him as he turned around the corner and began descending the stairs, feeling his heart pounding faster and faster with every step he took.
He was still there. Right where Harry had left him. He was wearing clean clothes, and he wasn't bleeding all over, but Harry felt another surge of satisfaction when he looked up at his face and saw the eye patch he was wearing. Sirius Black looked just as bitter and hateful as the day when Harry had nearly killed him. And though Harry's sudden appearance didn't send him into a screaming frenzy, there was still a very real cold wrath behind his eyes.
The same eyes moved down Harry's body and landed on the holster he had on his hip. The one where Black's wand lay there, secure.
Bedivere immediately turned on his heel. There was no use pretending or attempting to excuse his presence here. He had hoped to keep his true allegiance a secret, but that would not be possible after tonight. The most he could do was escape with his life. He tried turning and disapparating, but the wards stopped him from it. He started flying away, but he didn't get more than a few feet further before the oppressive feeling from the wards, combined with how weak his magic felt, sent him plummeting to the ground.
And with his ankles thoroughly bitten and drained by the snakes defending the shack, Bedivere couldn't do more than continue limping away.
The door to the shack suddenly opened behind it. It wasn't loud, but Bedivere heard it perfectly. Voldemort didn't say anything, but Bedivere already knew what he was expecting of him. He could continue trying to run away, and the Dark Lord would murder him without a word. Or he could turn and stand his ground, dying with a little dignity after answering the Dark Lord's questions.
And if he were going to die, it would be with dignity.
Bedivere turned, keeping his face perfectly blank as the Dark Lord tilted his head and looked at him, completely devoid of emotion. He didn't look angry, or even mildly bothered. Instead, Bedivere felt as if he was being analysed completely, with the Dark Lord deciding if he should kill him on the spot or if his life had any worth.
The Dark Lord twisted a small, black box in his hand. The Horcrux, Bedivere immediately realised, and then with a swift, wandless movement, the box was gone. "It's a shame it turned out to be you," the Dark Lord said emotionlessly. "I had been hoping to honour you after tonight."
"Honour me?" Bedivere questioned.
The Dark Lord softly moved his hand, and Bedivere felt as if his entire throat was being crushed by an invisible force. Bedivere struggled as he tried to breathe, trying to aim his wand at his neck before it was suddenly ripped from his hands and launched into the unlit grass.
"Irrelevant now," the Dark Lord said coldly.
And just as Bedivere thought the Dark Lord was going to fully crush his throat, just a second before he was sure he was about to die, there was a blinding golden light that made both men look away from it, distracting the Dark Lord just enough for him to take off the powerful hold over his throat. Bedivere coughed uncontrollably, slowly picking himself up as the light abruptly faded away, and Albus Dumbledore stepped out of it. His phoenix surged into the air, flying around them as he cried a soft, hopeful song into the dark night.
Bedivere very nearly lost his composure and gaped at Albus, his eyes flying between him and the Dark Lord. And as the three men eyed each other uncertainly, Bedivere wasn't sure how he was going to make it out of this confrontation with his life.
Neville stood there, paralysed, as Malfoy yelled at him again to pick up the prophecy. And then, Neville's heart dropped as he felt the feeling of soft release settle inside his body. The effects of Unbreakable Vow dissipating, a sign that Malfoy's mind had connected the dots.
Slowly, he felt as his body turned around on its own. Malfoy was looking at his own right arm, confused for a moment before his conscious mind caught up with his subconscious mind. "You can't retrieve the prophecy, can you?" Malfoy asked, his voice calm, quiet, and deadly.
If Neville couldn't retrieve the prophecy for him, then the Unbreakable Vow became moot as the initial circumstances that were required to happen were no longer possible. It released Neville from having any incentive to give himself up to Malfoy with the orb. And it released Malfoy from having to spare his friends at all.
And then, despite the mask covering his face, Neville could have sworn he saw the moment Malfoy smiled. "You, Neville Longbottom, aren't even the subject of the prophecy, are you?"
Harry didn't smirk. He wasn't here to gloat. In fact, though he couldn't deny it felt good to come back to see a more defeated Sirius Black, he could have gone his entire life without seeing the man again. He slowly reached for his holster, and the moment he unbuckled it Sirius rose to his feet. His breathing began getting faster, and for a moment he looked like the cornered animal Harry vividly remembered from that night.
Slowly, he pulled out the wand. Holding it in his hand for a moment as he tried to feel its magic once again. It fought him. The wand hated him. And Harry loved that it did. He twirled it in his hand, every movement he made only putting Black on edge. Harry was still hesitant, his body felt reluctant to his mind's orders. And Aurora was getting more and more disturbed above him.
Finally, Harry raised his arm, analysing the wand more closely as Black flinched and moved backwards. And then, he threw it into the air. The wand landed on the floor, rolling underneath the bars of the cell until they were stopped when they collided against Black's shoes.
"I need your help," Harry forced the words out, surprised at how steady they came out.
Black looked down at the wand, then up back at Harry, confusion and fear bubbling behind the hatred of his eyes. Harry for his part stayed Stoic, unwilling to give anything out as the two of them stared at each other.
Someone would die tonight, of that, Harry had no doubt. And if that was Sirius Black or Remus Lupin instead of Mrs Weasley or himself, then Harry wouldn't shed a tear.
That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!
Welcome to the GRAND FIFTH-YEAR FINALE! Sit back and enjoy, we're going to be here a while ;)
By the time I'm posting this, I'm ELEVEN chapters ahead, and have just finished writing the first chapter of the penultimate arc of fifth-year titled Requiem for a Dream! 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! :)