CHAPTER 10: The Game That Moves As You Play (Part 3)

"You've got to be shitting me."

It was a testament to how fucked up the situation had got that it had been Longbottom who had first turned to cursing. Harry didn't think much about it when Dumbledore first asked him to come to Grimmauld. Sure, it had been a surprise to find Longbottom there as well, but the satisfaction of seeing the smug look on his face fall when he entered the room was all that Harry needed. "What the hell is he doing here?" The boy shouted in the shrill cry of a child whose favourite toy had been ripped out of his hand.

"I've actually no idea," Harry conceded flippantly, but Longbottom wasn't done.

"I thought you said you needed me," he demanded to Dumbledore.

"I do need you, Neville," the old man calmly explained. "But Voldemort is more important than any disputes there may be between the three of us. If we can't learn to work together, then everything we're trying to do will be for nought."

Longbottom wasn't happy about it, and he made his feelings pretty clear, and Dumbledore was too understanding to make it a short rant. It took Aberforth to step in and call him out for his childishness before Longbottom finally shut up. After he finally settled down and Dumbledore made a quick cup of tea for the four of them, Aberforth pulled out a pensieve and dropped a few memories there. For the rest of the afternoon, they dived into all the memories they had of the young Tom Riddle and his family. Most seemed to involve Dumbledore, which made Harry think this collection was something that he had been working on for years. How long, he wondered, had Dumbledore known about the Horcruxes?

There was something eerie about watching Voldemort grow from a creepy child to the teenager Harry knew so very well. Being inside those memories almost made Harry feel as if he was trapped inside the diary again. There were even times when the Tom in the memory would look at him. It happened twice or thrice, and logically, Harry knew that it wasn't actually Voldemort. It was a coincidence, a random head movement Tom had done nearly half a century before he was born. But knowing that didn't make him pull his hand away from his holster.

Throughout it all, Aberforth and Dumbledore took turns explaining details within the memories, answering Longbottom's questions, bringing their attention toward certain objects in the memory or places where it took place. And while he wasn't becoming a Granger clone, raising his hand and asking questions about every little thing, he was taking note of whatever he could. Yaxley's map had simplified things to the point where these memories didn't have much use any more, but maybe what Dumbledore was showing them here could be used for something else. And though his lack of interest rubbed the Dumbledores the wrong way at first, they let him be after realising he was actually paying attention to everything.

It was a handful of tolling hours, at least for Longbottom and Dumbledore. Aberforth seemed just about as unfazed as Harry did, but unlike him, he actually had the grace of helping his brother take a seat and making him another cup of tea after it.

"Take a seat, Neville," Dumbledore offered kindly, but Longbottom didn't answer. He stayed standing, still and stiff and with a faraway look in his eye. Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something else, but the words never came out, and Harry saw how much he regretted showing all the memories in one go.

"So…" Longbottom finally spoke. "Vol-Voldemort split his soul… How many times?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "We're not sure. Aberforth has been in the process of finding Horace - the professor from the last memory - We think he has the answer. But you've already encountered one."

Longbottom looked confused for a moment. "The diary."

"That's right," Aberforth nodded brusquely.

"So you've known about this for how long now?" Longbottom's voice rose.

"Watch your tone, boy."

"It's quite alright, Aberforth."

"No, it's not," Longbottom snapped. "Voldemort has had these… these things making him immortal, and you've wasted the past five years on your arse?"

"We haven't been wasting our time," Dumbledore explained, somehow keeping his voice calm. "It has taken years for me to collect the memories I just showed you, memories that without, we wouldn't know where to begin looking for these objects. It was because of these memories that we found the hiding place of one of them, unfortunately, Voldemort showed up just as we were about to retrieve it."

"So Voldemort has one," Harry spoke up, trying to appear as if this was new information for him. "A Horcrux. He has one with him?"

"He has one on him," Aberforth explained, and Harry didn't know what to think about the fact that his tone was less aggressive whenever he talked to him instead of Longbottom. "It was a ring."

"And you think he won't take it off?"

Aberforth was going to answer, but before he could, Dumbledore raised his hand. He looked at him queerly, and Harry had a feeling he hadn't bought his performance. "Considering the fact that Voldemort now knows we are actively hunting down his Horcruxes, then I'd say yes. There is no safer precaution than keeping the finger on his ring the entire time."

"Well, that's just great, isn't it?" Longbottom muttered bitterly.

"It's important that someone besides us knows about these objects," Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard Longbottom. "They are the key to defeating Voldemort, they are everything. If we are to win this war, we need to focus on finding them. Aberforth and I are already using all the resources at our disposal to find them, and in time, you two will help us out. But I can't express how important it is that you keep this information to yourselves."

Harry nodded, more out of muscle memory than anything. Longbottom, though, didn't even bother.

It was then that Dumbledore had decided to completely launch a curveball in both of their directions. Granted, if Bedivere hadn't shown up months ago and told him all about the Horcruxes beforehand, he might have actually been just as fucked up as Longbottom, but so far, this was everything he was expected. But when Dumbledore told them that there was one more secret they had to keep and Gellert fucking Grindelwald entered the room a few minutes later, Harry had been left truly speechless.

That was when Neville had finally lost it. "You've got to be shitting me."

"I'm afraid we aren't," Aberforth answered coldly.

Grindelwald was an old man. Despite being around the same age as both Dumbledores, he looked decades older. His hair was shorter, his hands constantly shaking, and there was a surprisingly kind smile on his face for someone who had murdered millions. And he was looking straight at him.

"I see I don't need introductions," Grindelwald said, almost self-deprecatingly, in a way that weirdly fit the old man.

"Neither do we, right?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Just how long has Dumbledore been keeping you hidden?"

Grindelwald smiled, almost proud. "A good while now. Trust me when I say, me being here was never something I expected."

"Then why are you?" Longbottom challenged.

"Voldemort sought him out earlier this year," Dumbledore said. "He made it all the way to Nurmengard before I was forced to intervene."

"What did he want?"

Grindelwald shrugged, and if something in Harry hadn't told him he was lying, he wouldn't have thought otherwise.

"What do you think?" Longbottom spat. "Evil Dark Lords flock together, isn't that right? Maybe you two would fancy getting to know each other."

"That is an excellent idea, Neville," Harry said sardonically. "Mr Grindelwald, how do you consider I can improve my evilness? From one master to a pupil, I could certainly use the advice."

Grindelwald didn't laugh, like Harry expected. He turned away from him, any sense of geniality dropping from his face. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be much good there. It isn't my intention to make the same mistakes I once did. I'm only here to offer as much support as I can."

Longbottom snorted, and even Harry had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Either being locked up fifty years alone had castrated everything that made Grindelwald the man he was, or he was playing a long con and hoping they would lower their guard. Whatever it was, it was a sad display, in Harry's view.

"Gellert doesn't have a wand, but his knowledge of Magic and the Dark Arts is more than invaluable," Dumbledore said softly. "He'll be joining me and Aberforth in your lessons, Harry. Neville, you will join Harry with them starting tomorrow. Hopefully, they'll also help you learn how to coexist with each other."

Harry and Longbottom immediately looked at each other, and he could tell they were both thinking the same thing.

Fat chance.

Daphne had only been in the Purple Chamber once before. It had been that awful day during the winter break. She had been brought in, struggling and crying, forced into the room by her own father. It was obvious why she had been summoned, and when she saw Elijah Montague standing there, staring at her almost greedily, she knew there was nothing she could do. Her great uncle hadn't cared for her, he stood by and supported Montague as she accused her of betraying their order. It hadn't mattered to them that Graham was the one who threatened her sister first, all they cared about was finding out how much of a threat Harry was to all of them.

She still had nightmares of that night. The overwhelming helplessness she felt after being released from the imperius curse. There were no words to describe it, not even the worst kind of expectations rivalled the real thing. It was the highest level of violation she thought she would ever experience. The worst part was the immediate effect after being released. When under the spell, you aren't particularly conscious of it. You almost feel better, unburdened, as if there is nothing in the world that could move you. The imperius makes you feel as invulnerable as Merlin and as certain as Rowena Ravenclaw, and the moment you're freed from the spell it's taken all away. She imagined this was similar to the dementors' effect. Despite knowing, logically, those emotions weren't real, she felt drained and deprived of everything that had once given her purpose in her life.

A part of her, a deep, disgusting, shameful part of herself, had wanted the curse placed back on her. She wanted everything she lost back, it was part of her now, and she hadn't seen a way she could live without it. Daphne was plagued by the memories, night after night for months and months up to this day, watching herself on her knees yelling out, pleading, begging to be put back on the imperius curse again. Withdrawal, the books had called it. Something natural for victims of the imperius curse. But reading and classifying and rationalizing what she felt didn't make it any less real.

It wasn't just the withdrawal that affected her. Everything she didn't feel while under the imperius curse came crashing down on her the moment the imperius curse was removed. The helplessness at not being able to control her actions, all the anger and humiliation and dread squashed into a ball, multiplied by a hundred and suddenly dropped on her head like the weight of a twenty-foot gargoyle.

After that day, she had been left an inconsolable wreck. She rarely left her room, watched as her skin started turning grey, even felt as she slowly lost pound after pound as she endured the gruelling stomach ache. When her father noticed it, he gave her a proud smile and hugged her. "You look beautiful," he whispered in her ear, ignoring her shaking. "Good work with the weight." She had been at the worst point of her life, to the point that when her great uncle came to their house with Elijah Montague and ordered her to spy on Harry, she hadn't felt she could do anything other than meekly bow her head and comply. She became their slave, and her family stood and nodded as she was chained. She did everything Montague and her great uncle ordered her to do through the letters, and watched as Astoria lived her life, naive and wide-eyed and completely unaware or ignoring her submission.

She became everything she had promised herself she would never be, which was why she was the one who had to drive that final knife through Elijah's mangled body. It had been the first time since Halloween that she had felt in charge of her own life, proud and pleased with who she was. Returning now, her father's firm hand gripping her shoulder made her realise it had all been in her mind. A pointless victory. Significant only in the relish she felt at the moment, for what did it matter that she had broken herself free from Montague's chains if she was still her father's slave?

All the heads of the order were at the table with her. Noting the space where Elijah had last sat was only a momentary satisfaction. He had been young, inexperienced, and ultimately the least scary of all the people who shared the table with him. It was hard to look ahead and ignore all the gazes on her. Those who viewed her as a traitor were the least of her concerns, her father had made sure she had dressed to impress. Maybe he thought if he made everyone drool over her, they might forget she had actively gone against her. Even if it was, Daphne didn't think he did so thinking of her wellbeing.

The only person in the room who wasn't trying to pretend he wasn't looking at her was Mister Snyde. The sickly old man, his face enveloped in the darkness of the room, was staring straight at her. He wasn't looking at her body or her dress. She didn't think he was even looking at her body. In a weird moment of panic, a wild, illogical thought crossed her mind as she pictured the old man looking at her very soul. Her mind. Her past and future and everything in between. While others were looking at her, it felt as if he was looking through her. And even as she kept her back straight and face cool, she felt her heart begin to race at the thought of what was going on behind Mister Snyde's eyes.

"Greengrass," he finally spoke, his voice shaky, unstable, but very much holding a power unlike any other she'd heard before. "You requested this meeting for a reason."

"Yes, Mister Snyde," her great-uncle answered cordially. "We've got news from the Ministry. Rumours say Potter will be joining Dumbledore and Scrimgeour in the ICW assembly next fortnight."

"What of it?"

"Daphne has integrated herself well with Potter by now. We could use her, have the girl seduce Potter and let her into the trip. At the very least, we'll get a deeper insight towards the reaction of the outside world."

"What makes you so sure she can do it?" Rosier suddenly spoke up, looking Daphne up and down nastily.

"She has Potter around her little finger," her great-uncle pressed. "My nephew has seen it with his own eyes. He can vouch for her."

"It's true, Mister Snyde," her father nodded. "Potter resists, but my daughter has a certain influence over him. She's fit for the job."

Avery snickered at the choice of words, but Aida Mulciber didn't look convinced.

"No," Mister Snyde suddenly croaked out.

"Sir, I can assure you, my great niece-"

"I'm sure the whore has enough claws in Potter to pull those strings," Mister Snyde interrupted, his voice cold and impassive, and it made Daphne's face burn even hotter. "That isn't in question here, but it isn't the right approach to take."

The entire room went silent as Mister Snyde paused, and despite the hatred and humiliation bubbling in her stomach, Daphne couldn't even muster to keep her chin high.

"Yaxley has already destroyed any effort of secrecy we may have wanted to maintain with Potter. It's time we properly introduce ourselves," then he turned and addressed Daphne directly. "Prime the boy for a meeting. Make him accept, however you please, whatever it takes. I will not accept refusal for an answer."

She wanted to refuse, wanted to defend herself, but she couldn't even raise her voice to answer. She felt her father's grip tighten on her shoulder, the quick glance her great uncle gave her, but most of all she felt the power pouring from Mister Snyde. And, immediately, she knew just how much she would suffer if she even continued thinking of saying no. So she nodded because that was as much as she could degrade herself.

"Are you sure?" Mulciber asked snobbishly. "This is highly unusual, we don't deal with outsiders this way."

"I'll deal with our enemies as I see fit," Mister Snyde snapped, his voice calm but exploding with a wave. "Don't forget why we've lasted as long as we have." Then he turned to Daphne's great uncle once again. "You do make a good suggestion. Have the girl join Potter on the trip, accompany her if you must. It's time we reinforce our alliances outside of Britain."

"It will be done," her great-uncle conceded. "I'll make sure she knows how to deal with them."

"And make sure she doesn't get caught," Mister Snyde added. "Potter can't know a thing."

Harry had been awake all morning, and he was quickly regretting thinking himself above a nap after finishing up the Gryffindors' training. His eyes felt heavy, and he could almost feel himself moving in slow motion. It wouldn't be something catastrophic, his reflexes were still sharp enough to save him in a battle, but an hour or two of sleep wouldn't have hurt. At the very least, he should have drank a hot cup of tea before he met the others at the Ministry. Every day, he grew more and more convinced he enjoyed torturing himself.

It was raining slightly. Soft drops slowly fall from the sky, pattering against the stone ground in a hypnotic dance. This summer had been colder than most. "Voldemort's doing," Dumbledore vaguely told him, but besides the dementors venturing out to Muggle cities more often, he didn't give any other reason. With very few lamps and tall, narrow buildings boxing them in, it almost felt as if the city of Derby was looming over them.

Moody was leading the group, his staff sparking with magic as it hit the ground, leaving behind scorch marks that marked their path. They wouldn't fade, not on their own, and through his blurred thoughts, Harry pictured the Muggles waking up the next morning, finding a path of circular, black marks on the tiles of the floor. Would they wonder what made them? Would police investigate? Rumours spread? Or would the Unspeakables wipe it all away before the sun even started rising on the horizon? It was a liability keeping them there. A sign for those in the know. Maybe it would be too small of a thing for the Unspeakables to pay attention to it. After rebuilding cities and reshaping memories, would they really focus on some smudges on the floor?

Maybe. Harry definitely would.

None of the others seemed to pay attention to it. They were walking forward, backs straight and chests out, their wands in their hands and shoes silenced. It was their first mission together, and they were already working as an experienced unit. Their uniformity had made it so easy for Harry to integrate. Despite his young age and lack of experience working with the Aurors, no one would single him out as the odd one if they were to look from the outside. He was a soldier, like them, but there was something that was rubbing him the wrong way about it all. The little things he'd noticed for the past few weeks, things he couldn't really put into words. He was growing to hate working with Aurors like this. If he didn't have to maintain his relationship with Scrimgeour, he would have gone off on his own weeks ago.

Suddenly, Moody stopped in the middle of the street. He looked up and down at the surrounding buildings, his eye working madly as it zapped from edifice to edifice. And then it finally set on the one to their left. A short, red building with boarded-up windows, a busted-up gate, and faint traces of light coming from the edges of the door. They entered the property quite easily, splitting off into groups without Moody even having to say a word. Proudfoot and Shacklebolt took the front door while Dawlish began making his way around the property with Wilkins by his side. Harry would have joined them, but before he could, Moody blocked him with his staff before looking upwards.

He slammed the wooden cane on the ground, and the moment he did the wall right above them on the third floor began shifting and moving, leaving a tight hole tall enough to fit a human. Moody exploded into a cloud of white smoke, dashing up in the air and quickly landing on the entrance that had just been opened, and after he rematerialised into his human form, the old Auror raised his eyebrow at him. Harry thought of apparating but quickly dispelled the idea, instead he waited for a moment. A blast of heat hit the back of his neck and as Harry raised his arm, he felt Aurora's claws latch on to him and launch him into the air. He landed perfectly on the space Moody had left for him and watched as Aurora began flying around the building.

Moody gave a vague grunt before hobbling forward.

The place looked decrepit, abandoned, the type of building junkies or runaways would use to hide from the police. It reminded him of those months when he had been on the run from Montague and the Aurors, but looking at this now, Harry didn't think he ever quite fell this low. Grey and brown, stains covering every wall and dust floating in the air. The rooms on their floor were filled with sleeping bags, used food wrappers, and empty bottles. They slowly started making their way down, searching floor by floor. There was a group of Muggles already asleep, huddled for warmth and looking like a soft breeze would wake them up. Before any of them had the chance, Moody stunned them, bound them, and silenced them. Harry would have been impressed by the speed if he hadn't considered the entire thing overkill.

Voices were coming from below. Soft and far away but unmistakably there, and it wasn't just a few. The Prime Minister had told them there were nearly thirty of them holed up in this dump, so they still had more than enough resistance to face. What nobody had been able to tell them was how armed they were. Did they have any weapons? Knives? Had they actually managed to get their hands on a few guns? Harry doubted it. The gun laws in the UK were as strict as they came, and they were getting harsher every year. The gunman at Diagon Alley had most likely been a fluke. Despite this, he still kept his wand at the ready.

"The others are in position," Moody told him, his dammed eye constantly moving. "I see twelve total. Five asleep, seven awake."

"Fifteen? Are you sure?" Harry whispered.

"Did I stutter, boy?"

Harry bit down the insults that came to mind. "Where are the other ten?"

"Not here, that's where."

"This could become a problem."

"Just focus on the mission," Moody barked before continuing to descend the stairs.

They were the ones to engage first. Disillusioned and silenced, the Muggles never realised they were right there with them until the first spell had been cast. As soon as they did, the others burst into the building and joined in the fight. In total, it couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds. The attack was sharp and fierce, and before the Muggles had even stood up and raised their weapons, they had already stunned more than half. The ones who did manage to cock their rifles had their weapons melted in their hands. They screamed and fell to their knees, and the only reason why the entire street didn't immediately wake up was the silencing charms the other teams had placed around the property. The silence came in sharp after it was all over, sitting heavily in the room. There had barely been any collateral, if not for the bodies on the floor, there would have been scarce signs that a battle had taken place.

The Unspeakables came in soon after. Bedivere himself showed up, but besides a quick, discreet nod, they didn't talk. They quickly took over the scene, reenervarating the Muggles one by one and portkeying them out of the building. It was a fear tactic, Harry realised immediately. Their worst fears come to life. Some would fight, others cried and pleaded. It was the ones that went completely still that stood out to Harry. They didn't break or beg, instead, it seemed the confirmation only served to fuel that fire inside of them. But soon, they too joined the others at the Ministry.

In less than five minutes, they had cleaned up everything. The few laptops they found were seized, and the place completely cleared out of any sign of life. Moody gave shifts to everyone so that they could surveil the property and intercept the missing Muggles whenever they came back. The Unspeakables would interrogate them, maybe even gather other targets for them to apprehend, and then obliviate them and send them back into their lives. Completely unaware of the war, they were instigating by simply remembering something they shouldn't. This was their first mission, but far from the last one. The damage done may already be irreversible.

The Unspeakables left first. Then Shacklebolt and Dawlish, and then all the other Aurors. Harry saw Moody giving him an odd look from his side before he, too, left. And after everyone was gone, and he was left alone inside the innocuous building, he stood there for another hour before he too left.

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

By the time I'm posting this, I'M THIRTEEN chapters ahead, and starting the final arc of the summer titled A Creature That Bleeds!If you're interested in learning how to get early access to the chapters, join my discord server using the following link: discord.gg/jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favoriting, and commenting. I appreciate all of you!