The Wizarding World of Harry Potter and everything in it belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"Why?" the face from her dreams roared from the depths of her mind. She took aim with her wand.
Thud.
"You need to be stronger!" the other voice added its cry to the void.
Wham.
"Why!"
Crunch.
"Get stronger. You're too weak."
Thud.
"WHY?!"
Smash.
"Heather?" She whirled around, her wand dropping reflexively to her side after a long second. Ron was standing in the door to the training room, watching her warily. "Why are you still here? Everyone's already at the Wyvern."
"Just practicing," Heather replied, brushing a lock of escaped hair out of her face. It was soaked in sweat that had begun to run down her forehead and into her eyes. Turning away from Ron, she raised her wand again and took careful aim at the next target. It exploded in a satisfying shower of splinters. She knew Ron was still watching but ignored him. With a wave of her wand, the dummies were repaired and reset.
"You want to talk about what's up?" Ron asked at last, moving into the room and standing next to Heather. He was dressed to leave with his bag slung casually over her shoulder.
"Not sure what you mean," Heather replied. "Expulso!" A target vanished in a cloud of fragments.
"So, you aren't still upset about what happened yesterday?" asked Ron pointedly.
Heather's cheeks burned. For the first time in months the prankster had struck again. Why they had been idle since early June no one knew. The only reasoning Heather could figure was that with assignments and missions being handed out, there hadn't been time to carry out their misdeeds. Now, with the ever-pervading sense of "peace" filtering through the Auror Office, and the Ministry itself, they had returned. This time it had been her wand holster that had "malfunctioned," ejecting a bright pink umbrella into her hand during dueling practice. Caught off guard by the cumbersome object, she had been too slow to dodge the incoming hex and had taken it straight to the chest. Unconsciously she rubbed the still sore spot. "No," she growled.
"Alright, so it's Justin then." Ron pressed, crossing his arms.
"No." she spat, turning away and taking aim at a helpless dummy.
"Then it's what happened…you know," Ron continued, dropping his voice low.
"Listen, Ron," Heather began, lowering her wand and glowering at her friend," I appreciate what you're trying to do here but-"
The door to the training room burst open. "Potter, Weasley, you're still here." Robards said, looking grim. "Gear up and get out here. Something's happened."
Feeling grimy, Heather stole into the shower to freshen up before changing into working clothes. When she emerged from the locker room, the laid back, quiet air of the evening had been replaced with something almost frantic. Ron, Daphne, Savage, Proudfoot, Honeywell, and Hestia were all surrounding a large table and board in the breakroom, staring intently at Robards. "About time, Potter," Robards grumped when she joined them. "Right, you lot listen up. Horace Slughorn, the Hogwarts Potion's Master had just been kidnapped from Hogsmeade."
"What?" gasped Heather along with several others.
Robards continued across them. "According to the occupants of the Three Broomsticks, Slughorn hadn't been inside for more than a few minutes before Yaxley and six others apparated directly into the bar and abducted him at wand point. They threw around enough curses to scare the other customers, but no one was hurt."
"Any idea who the others were?" asked Proudfoot.
Robards shook his head. "Everyone but Yaxley was masked."
Savage raised a hand. "What do they want with an old teacher?" he asked.
Robards looked around the group. "I honestly couldn't tell you. I know he's head of Slytherin house and might be considered a traitor by them, but that wouldn't warrant being kidnapped. They'd just kill him and be done with it."
"Could he know something that they need?" Hestia pondered aloud, looking perplexed.
"Yeah, but what?" Ron asked. "I mean, Slughorn taught most of the Death Eaters when they were students, but what do they think he knows?"
No one answered. "Dammit people, think!" roared Robards. After a tense moment, he sighed and visibly deflated. He hadn't been one of those who outwardly believed the war was over, but he had allowed the slackness to take root. "Right, let's start working through possible locations where they might have taken him. If he's part of whatever they're planning, we don't have time to lose." He stalked back towards his office, leaving stunned silence in his wake.
When his door slammed, the spell was broken and buzzing conversation broke out everywhere. Proudfoot, as senior auror present, took charge. Files and maps were summoned from file cabinets and everyone began to speculate aloud, to little notable effect. After a few minutes of this, which was enough to give Heather an intense headache, Proudfoot dispatched half of them in groups of two to begin staking out suspected locations and report back on any death eater activity. Heather remained behind, diligently working her way through months of reports, looking for something that could help, all while her brain tried to think. Slowly, far too slowly in her opinion, word started trickling in from the field that there was no sign of Yaxley or his group.
Twenty minutes after midnight, while Heather was draining her sixth or seventh mug of steaming hot coffee, the double doors leading to the lifts burst open. The noise was enough to crack the tense air of the office and make everyone look around. A uniformed DMLE officer was sprinting towards Robards' office, clutching a piece of parchment in his fist. Other than the pinkness in his cheeks, his face was deathly pale. Not a minute later, he and Robards emerged. Robards sent the man on his way and approached the aurors. His face too had gone ashen. "We just got a report from the Muggle Liaison Office that seven muggles have been murdered in Little Hangleton. All evidence points to the killing curse." After a moments pause to let that sink in, he added "the Dark Mark has been sighted as well."
The gears in Heather's head were now working furiously, causing the room to spin in front of her eyes. Seven death eaters, seven murdered muggles, Horace Slughorn, Little Hangleton. There was an answer there if she could just focus long enough to find it. Maybe Mulciber had found something there after all? What if it wasn't Little Hangleton they were after, but something in the Gaunt shack? But what would they need to murder people to use? Seven deaths could hardly be a coincidence. The image of Marvolo's ring swam into her mind's eye, accompanied by the words, "Isn't seven the most powerful magical number?"
All strength vanished from her legs. Without warning, she fell forward, her midsection slamming into the hard table edge. She retched, sending the dark contents of her stomach everywhere. She had the answer. "Potter?" cried Robards as everyone sprang backwards, dodging the flying vomit that was ricocheting everywhere. Heather dry heaved twice more before she could force her mouth to work properly. "Get…get Kingsley. Now." She gasped, flinging spit laced with vomit everywhere.
"Potter, what are you talking about?" pressed Robards from somewhere much closer than he had been a moment ago. "What's the Minister have to do with this?"
"Get. Him," urged Heather, sliding to the floor.
Kingsley came immediately. He rushed into Robards' office where the Head Auror was sitting, glaring across his desk at Heather, who he had half carried to a seat while they waited for the Minister. "Heather, what's going on?" Kingsley asked in his slow, reassuring voice. When she didn't immediately reply, Robards stepped in and explained.
"Horcruxes," Heather said when Robards was done. "They're making horcruxes."
"How the hell do you know what a horcrux is, Potter?" asked Robards sternly across his desk.
At a nod from Kingsley, Heather said, "That was Riddle's secret. How he was able to return from the dead. He had seven of them. That's what I was hunting last year."
"The important question is," Kingsley stated across Robards' squawk of consternation, "how did Yaxley find out about them, and what does Slughorn have to do with all of this?"
"When Riddle was at Hogwarts, he asked Slughorn about making them."
Robards was twiddling his thumbs thoughtfully while he gazed hard at Heather. "So, they think he knows how to make them. Does he?"
She shook her head. "Not according to what he told Riddle back then. At least not the exact details anyway." Neither wizard bothered asking just how she knew the particulars of a conversation that had taken place half a century ago.
"Heather, you're our expert in this. What do you need?" Kingsley asked slowly.
A fresh bucket of ice ran down Heather's spine settling in the pit of her now aching stomach. He couldn't be serious. She wasn't strong enough for this. "You mean…"
"You're taking lead on this. Use Weasley and assemble a force." Robards stood. "Whatever you need, get it. Move out."
Still trying to find a reason why she shouldn't be trusted with this, Heather emerged from the office and found Ron. He quickly understood what was going on, and just how bad this could get if they didn't act quickly. As he didn't need any further details, Heather asked him to travel to Hogwarts and retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor, then meet the force at Little Hangleton.
Some of the senior aurors had a passing knowledge of horcruxes, even if they'd never actually encountered one before. No one spoke as Heather told them what she was allowed to divulge, along with a dire warning from Kingsley that this information was considered highly classified. "The important thing is to make sure their horcruxes don't escape, assuming they've already created them. The sword is the only thing other than fiendfyre that can destroy a horcrux." Heather concluded, gazing slowly around the table.
After one last check on her gear, she joined the rest of the group and boarded a lift for the Atrium. Along with Ron, the strike force included Proudfoot, Daphne, Honeywell, Hestia, Moore, Seamus, Katie, and Lee. The last three of these had already been drinking at the White Wyvern but had been quickly recalled and appeared to have sobered up more than enough. Heather figured that news of horcruxes would probably sober anyone up.
The moment they arrived in Little Hangleton Heather knew something was wrong there. They had chosen to apparate to the same crumbling ruin of a house she and Honeywell had spent so much time in while tracking Mulciber, since there was little chance of a muggle spying them. Screams of terror filled the air, and the sky was full of a sickly green light. They dashed out into the street, not bothering to stay under cover, and gazed upwards. The Dark Mark, one larger than Heather had ever seen before, was hanging over the village. It stared down at them with its dead, empty eyes while the serpent in its mouth twined this way and that.
"Get to the house. Go!" urged Heather even as her stomach tried to betray her again. They sprinted along the road, past the rubbish bins Mulciber had used to hide, and then turned towards the high street. Muggles in various stages of undress were running this way and that, terror filling their faces.
The Riddle House was ablaze from end to end. Flames spouted from every window, their warm light not entirely overcoming the pale green aura of the skull overhead. Already the fire was spreading out into the grounds, either from burning debris or set alight by magic. It didn't matter. The entire hill was threatening to be consumed in a fiery inferno. Just for a moment, Heather was vividly reminded of the height of the Battle of Hogwarts.
Even from this distance, their cloaked forms illuminated by the towering frames, they could see a group of robed figures marching down the far side of the hill. Above them, unconscious or dead they didn't know, were a handful of limp figures held aloft by wands. Heather's body felt done in already, and her knees were trying their best to collapse under her. She could feel her hands shaking violently and tried to still them before someone saw. Everyone's attention was too fixed on the events ahead of them to notice, however.
"Come on!" shouted Honeywell who had pulled ahead of the group by a few feet and was nearing the stone wall. Her wand was in her hand, and she took aim at one of the robed figures. At such extreme range, there was little change of her hitting whoever she was aiming at, but it might make the death eaters think twice knowing that there were aurors on their tails.
"Stupefy!" she shouted, and the red streak of light sped forwards. At the boundary of the grounds, it exploded against an invisible barrier.
"Wards," cursed Proudfoot. "Savage, Moore, get to work bringing those down. The rest of you, look for weak spots." He barked these orders quickly, then raised his own wand and began chanting slowly under his breath. The air in front of them began to ripple as their spells probed the invisible shield, trying to bring it down. Heather turned and looked back at the village, hoping that the muggles had been able to get away. Where was Ron? He should have been back by now.
"Just…about…got it…" Proudfoot gasped through gritted teeth, holding his wand in both hands. Bright cracks had appeared in midair now. With a roaring whoosh, the dome collapsed.
"Right, let's do this!" screamed Honeywell, vaulting the wall and dashing forward. Heather saw a flash of silver to her left and turned to see Ron running up the high street, the Sword of Gryffindor held carefully in both hands.
"Sorry," he gasped, resting on the wall to catch his breath. "McGonagall wasn't at the castle, and I had to find someone who could let me into her office."
"It's alright," said Heather, who knew she should have already chased after everyone else.
Something shifted in Ron's eyes as he looked at her. "What's up?" he asked.
Everything inside Heather wanted to tell him that she couldn't do this. The very thought of running in there, where flashes of colored light were already lighting up the distant graveyard, made her heart stop. Ron was standing upright now, looking down at her. "It's happening again, isn't it?"
She looked at him and felt her jaw lock up. She nodded jerkily. "Heather, we've got to do this. You and I are the only ones who can." He took a step towards the wall. "I…I can't wait for you. I've got to go." He took another step, then looked back at her again. Heather nodded once, still unable to move. "I'm sorry" she thought as loudly as possible, hoping that he could somehow hear her.
Then he was gone, and she was standing there alone. More spells flew through the night air, and there was no way of knowing who was winning the fight. "You've got to move!" shouted a voice inside her.
"I can't." she replied meekly. "I can't move."
"Weakling. Pathetic." The voice had changed, become more masculine. "You want to pretend you're an auror, but you're just a sad little girl who needs everyone else to protect her."
"No…I'm not!" Heather tried to argue but her words fell flat inside her head.
Somewhere deep inside her, she heard laughter. "Then prove it. Show that Voldemort wasn't right about you after all."
The image of Voldemort facing her in the Great Hall, taunting her, asking who was going to die for her today was what finally gave her the ability to move. A fire lit inside of her that she hadn't felt in months. People were dying and she was supposed to be protecting them. She had to act. Her feet were running through partially trampled tall grass now without conscious direction. Individual forms were taking shape in the gloom ahead, and most of them were ducked down behind shattered gravestones seeking protection from the curses that were flying everywhere.
"Expulso!" Heather cried, pointing her wand towards one a figure with a tall hood. The white stone they were cowering behind erupted, sending the black robed figure flying. They impacted hard on a tall obelisk, fell to the ground, and did not stir.
"Heather!" gasped a voice as she flew past a grave marker. She whirled and saw Lee there, half his face covered in thick burns. "Get the masks" Lee wheezed out, pointing with a shaking hand towards the center of the graveyard. Lee's head fell forward onto his chest, and he was still.
The fire inside her dimmed and almost went out. Her stomach churned and she staggered against the stone. No, she had to keep it together. Just for a little longer. Gazing around quickly revealed no readily apparent threats nearby, and she took off again. She knew where to go without thinking about it. She could see the tall, winged statue that marked the grave of Tom Riddle's father and grandparents. Where else would the death eaters have chosen to complete the creation of their horcruxes. The base of the stone next to it, the one carved with the Riddle's names on it, was wrapped with thick robes, binding something to it on the side opposite Heather.
A green jet of light shot over her head, and she dove behind a large tomb. She stuck her head out briefly and saw Yaxley standing in the open patch of grass in which had once stood a large stone cauldron. His long blonde hair was streaming out behind him as he held a mask aloft before him. Four other death eaters were around him, protecting him from the attacks of the aurors. He was shouting something to the night, but the words were lost over the noise of the battle.
"Potter!" screamed Honeywell from her left. Honeywell pointed, drawing Heather's eyes towards a silver cross laying on the ground halfway between her hiding spot and the ring of death eaters. Next to the sword lay a crumpled figure, and though it was impossible to tell for certain, Heather knew it was Ron. "Get the sword! We'll cover you!" Honeywell shouted, gesturing her forward.
For the space of a single heartbeat, Heather almost didn't move. She could feel her legs wanting to lock up, could sense the panic filling her chest. "Potter!" screamed Honeywell again. Heather moved. Dashing out from behind cover and only just dodging another jet of green light, she sprinted towards the sword. "Protego!" she shouted, hoping that her single shield spell would protect her. A low rock tripped her, and she fell forward, sliding through the wet grass until she came to stop against Ron's body. Recovering, she fumbled for the hilt of the sword while her other touched his chest. It was still moving.
The cold steel of the sword felt heavy in her hand as she lifted it out of the grass. How she had hoped never to need it again. The wind was picking up, whirling around her head, and she knew that Yaxley was close to completing his task. Risking a look past the grave she was kneeling behind, she waited. Alecto and Amycus Carrow blocked her way, though for the moment it didn't look like they were aware of her presence. Both had lost their hoods in the fight and Amycus had a bloody cut along one cheek.
She steadied her hands as best as she could, knowing she would only get one shot at this. Carefully, trying not to attract attention, she aimed her wand at Alecto. "Imperio," she muttered, and felt a tingling sensation run down her arm through her wand. "Attack Amicus" Heather thought. There was resistance, but inch by inch Alecto's wand swung around. Amycus shouted in alarm and ducked for cover.
Heather didn't wait to see what would happen. She vaulted from cover and sprinted towards the towering figure of Yaxley. There was no other thought in her mind than stopping him. Her wand fell from her hand, there wasn't time to secure it in its holster, and she gripped the sword tightly in both hands. When she was five feet away, she raised the sword over her head, her eyes fixed on the ornate death eater mask in Yaxley's outstretched hand. Using every piece of her strength, Heather swung the sword in a downward arc, and saw the blade cut deftly through the mask. Two things happened in quick succession. The mask exploded in smoke, flooding her vision and knocking her backwards, then a jet of light slammed into her chest and she knew nothing more.