Chapter 29
It was the sight of the Dark Mark in the sky that first caught his attention, and then the bodies of the man, woman, and two children hanging from the shop sign, swaying morbidly above the remains of what had been both their place of business and home.
Floating in the air in front of them was the same fiery writing the young Tom Riddle had used to reveal his identity to Harry in the Chamber of Secrets so many years prior.
Instead of consisting of only his name, the message was much more sinister.
Enemies of the Heir of Slytherin beware…
Lord Voldemort
"Lord Voldemort?" Grimm had questioned. "Who the bloody hell is that?"
None had the answer save for Harry, but he was doing his utmost to retain his air of ignorance. He knew the man better than any, and though Hogsmeade had been his first transgression against magical Britain, this was him introducing himself.
"Cut them down, for Merlin's sake, and close the alley off," Grimm barked.
The Head Auror was furious, as were his subordinates.
"Sick bastard," Moody grumbled. "Whoever did this is a sick bastard."
"There were six of them," Harry revealed.
Moody turned sharply towards him.
"Six of them?"
Harry nodded.
"The dead leave no trace of magic like what's in the air," he murmured before apparating away, the mask he'd so painstakingly donned finally beginning to slip.
He'd arrived home and vented in the basement, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.
When he was done, his breathing was laboured, though his anger would not fade.
It was a strange moment for Harry.
Up until the moment he'd killed Voldemort, he'd lived in fear of the man. Now, however, he did not.
He wanted nothing more than to tear the Dark Lord limb from limb for what he'd done to the family who owned the apothecary, and the feeling of fear did not even enter his mind.
Harry was no longer a small boy who'd lived a life of abuse which he could not even escape from in the nightmares that haunted him. He was a man grown, one that had overcome more adversity in his first seventeen years of life than most ever would, and in many ways, he'd become the monster that had been his torment.
Unwittingly, Tom Riddle had taught him much, and even when Harry had done his best not to be like him, it had become something of an inevitability.
He may not possess the hunger for power nor the desire to exact abject cruelty on others for the sake of enjoyment, but Harry was not beyond delving into things most would find to be distasteful.
Voldemort had taught him the cruelty of life, and Harry had become an excellent student.
"There a sometimes days that I rue ever taking this job," Grimm said candidly as Harry entered his office. "It's days like this that I question If I'm the right man to do it."
"We all have those days, Auror Grimm."
The man nodded and released a deep breath.
"They are all looking to me to find the people responsible, and I'll do every damned thing I can to ensure I do."
"That's all anyone can ask," Harry offered comfortingly.
Grimm sat a little straighter in his chair.
"What kind of people could do such a thing?"
"The very worst," Harry answered. "The world is full of them, and most hide beneath a veneer of benevolence. In my experience, it is those that must be scrutinised most deeply."
Grimm hummed his agreement.
"I'll fetch some of my lot for you," he announced. "At this rate, you should be done in only a few days."
Harry watched as the man left, not envying his position in the slightest.
Making his way towards the training room, the mood within the office was sombre at best, and those who had attended the scene in Diagon Alley were subdued, thoughtful, and likely suffering from the trauma of what they'd seen.
Harry remembered the acts of cruelty he'd witnessed throughout his life, and although each of them was firmly cemented in his mind, he'd simply become accustomed to violence in a way that no man should.
To him, what he had seen in Diagon Alley in the early hours was nothing new. It angered him, so much so that he'd struggled not to lose his temper, but it no longer haunted him as it once had.
The Aurors saw harrowing things, but not like that, and he could see the same look in many of their eyes that had once plagued him.
Sadly, it would not be the last time they saw it.
In the coming years, it would only get worse, and they would long for the day they had to come to terms with the desecrated corpses of a single family, hung like a display in a butcher's shop window for all to see.
He was pulled from his maudlin thoughts by the arrival of the first Aurors he would be working with, each of them sporting a hollow expression.
"Take as long as you need with them," Grimm urged.
Harry nodded before shifting his attention to the group.
"Did you really help Collins with her Patronus?" one of the men asked.
"I did," Harry confirmed.
"Could you help me?"
"I can."
Perhaps doing so would help settle them.
As things were, they would already struggle with the task ahead of them; something only made more difficult if they could not get themselves in the right state of mind.
(Break)
"Enemies of the Heir of Slytherin beware," Imelda echoed, reading the report of the incident.
"Muggleborns," Amelia sighed. "From what we know of Slytherin, he was not fond of them, and the hate for muggleborns only grew with each generation of his family. The thing is, the last of his line are locked away in Azkaban."
"So, you think it is someone posing as an heir?"
"I don't know," Amelia replied with a frown.
Her thoughts drifted to Jameson.
He was a parselmouth, and although he denied any familial connection to the Slytherin line, it made her wonder if there were others like him or if there was an extended branch that was unknown.
Harry's face.
When he'd read the message and saw the same effigy that had appeared over Hogsmeade and the slaughtered family, Amelia had seen a glimmer of unbridled fury cross his features before it was gone again.
Did he know something?
No, it wasn't possible, not unless it had to do with whatever he was doing in his capacity as a Hit-Wizard, but if that was so, he would have taken charge of the case.
Amelia was confused, and she knew she couldn't raise it with Jameson.
Nonetheless, his being a parselmouth, along with his reaction to what had happened in both Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, was not something she could ignore.
The thought that he could do such a thing had not crossed her mind for a single second, but she could not deny that she suspected he knew more than he was letting on.
Perhaps being an Auror just made her naturally more suspicious, or it was that she knew Harry so well to see that it had bothered him beyond general disgust at what he'd seen.
"So, what next?" Imelda asked.
"We have been given the pleasant task of retrieving the medical reports," Amelia informed the other woman.
Imelda nodded.
"Will they be ready?"
"Smith has personally seen to it that they will be. It's past lunchtime now, so I expect Jenny will be finished. Come on, there's no point delaying it."
They left the office and arrived at the examination room only a few moments later, where Jenny had thankfully covered the four bodies.
The woman was paler than usual, evidently unsettled by the nature of the work she'd needed to carry out.
"Worse than we thought?" Amelia asked.
Jenny nodded sombrely.
"I can't believe someone would do this," she whispered as she retrieved her clipboard. "Mr Osborne was subjected to the Cruciatus Curse, his skin was lacerated no less than thirty times,, his finger and toenails were pulled out along with his teeth, and he was beaten so badly that most of his bones were broken. He was fed a cocktail of potions to keep him alive and lucid."
"Merlin," Amelia murmured, feeling nauseated by what she'd heard. "That explains the silencing charms around the house."
"His screams would've been heard for miles," Jenny confirmed. "I expect the mental trauma of what he witnessed his wife and children went through was just as bad. Mrs Osborne… I can't," she choked. "Here. If you know what is good for you, don't read it."
Amelia took the clipboard and felt no impulse to do so.
If it was so unpleasant that it had impacted Jenny so badly, Amelia was certain she did not wish to be privy to the information within.
"Dinner tonight?" she asked.
"So long as there's wine, I'm in."
Amelia nodded and gestured for Imelda to follow her.
They made their way towards Smith's office and found the man pacing furiously back and forth in front of a display he'd created, which highlighted the details of both events.
If he hadn't been motivated to catch those responsible before, there was certainly no denying it now.
He all but snatched the clipboard from Amelia and perused it, his skin taking on a greenish tinge as he did so.
"Sick bastards," he growled. "I'll find them, and when I do…"
He left the threat hanging in the air, and Amelia had no doubt the man would push for the harshest punishment possible if and when he caught up to the perpetrators.
"Leave me," he instructed.
Amelia did so, and she and Imelda returned to her own office.
"What now?"
"We get on with our job," Amelia answered.
"That's it?"
Amelia nodded.
"Unless we are asked to assist further, that's it. Smith is running this case. He's one of the best to ever come through here, so if anyone can find them, it's him."
"And what if he can't?"
"Then we'd best hope that those responsible have had their fill."
"That's not likely though, is it?"
Amelia shook her head.
"No, it's not likely, she sighed, peering towards the empty door of the training room.
Jameson was in there, and Amelia wondered what was running through his mind.
It was not as though he would just forget what had happened.
Would he be pursuing the people who had attacked the Osbornes?
Amelia couldn't dismiss the thought, and there was a small part of her that hoped he caught up with them before Smith.
She remembered what she'd learned from Moody about the night Harry had come for her when she'd been kidnapped.
He'd killed all of her captors, and as far as she was concerned, even that was too good a fate for those who had carried out the heinous attack on an innocent family.
(Break)
The release of the morning edition of The Daily Prophet had been delayed, and when his copy of the newspaper had arrived shortly after he'd finished lunch, Edgar was grateful that he'd eaten before it had.
To read of what had happened to the Osborne family was sickening, and to see the same symbol hanging above the burnt remains that had been in Hogsmeade filled him with a sense of dread.
It was one thing for someone to kill several people by starting a fire; that could be put down to an arson attack, but to murder a family, children, and all was beyond Lord Bones' comprehension.
"Unbelievable," he whispered after reading the article for the dozenth time since it had arrived. "Enemies of the Heir of Slytherin beware…"
It turned his stomach to imagine what the family had endured in their final moments.
He'd frequented their apothecary often enough when he needed to, and he'd always dealt with Mrs Osborne.
She was a kind and respectable woman with exceptional knowledge of her wares.
Edgar couldn't think of a single person who would wish harm upon her, let alone her husband, who was a jovial enough fellow.
He could only shake his head as he pondered what kind of person would do such a thing; and the Heir of Slytherin?
The last known relatives of the man were the Gaunts, and both last known males had been sentenced to a lengthy stay in Azkaban.
Had one of them been released?
If so, it would not be long before they were back in the company of the Dementors, and Edgar could think of no other who deserved it more.
"Amelia, is that you?" he called as he heard footsteps approaching his study.
It wasn't.
Eliza entered the room and paused at the sight of him.
"Is something wrong? You're quite pale."
Edgar merely nodded towards the newspaper, and she gasped as she read the article.
"Lord Voldemort?"
Edgar shrugged.
It was a baffling name that meant nothing to him, and it certainly wasn't connected to the Slytherin line as far as he was aware. He'd studied the lineage of every pureblood family closely enough to be sure of that.
"I'm as lost as you are," he sighed. "Still, with this supposed Heir of Slytherin loose, I don't want you to leave the house unaccompanied. Promise?"
Eliza nodded.
"Good. Have you heard from Amelia? I've not seen her for a few days."
"I wonder why that is," Eliza snorted. "She will be with Jameson."
Edgar hummed thoughtfully.
"You don't approve?"
"I do," he replied dismissively, "but she is still a part of a prominent pureblood family. If anyone was to catch wind… I wouldn't want her to become the next topic of gossip amongst them."
"I see," Eliza said with a frown. "Have you spoken to her about it?"
"She's a grown woman, Eliza," Edgar pointed out. "It's not my place to interfere."
"As the Lord of the family, it is. I'm not saying you should offer an opinion on what she's doing, but you can at least broach it with her to see what is going on between them. Your sister doesn't strike me as someone to have a fling, even if it is with a mysterious, handsome man."
Edgar nodded, though before he could answer, the fireplace flared into life, and the very woman they'd been discussing stepped out.
Amelia appeared to be exhausted and had evidently had a trying day.
"I'm not stopping long, I'm meeting Jenny for dinner," she announced.
"Will you be home later?" Edgar asked.
Amelia frowned at the question.
"Why?"
Edgar looked towards Eliza, and Amelia held up a hand.
"Don't," she said firmly. "Don't try to involve yourself in my personal life, Edgar. I'm not a little girl anymore."
"I know that," he assured her. "I just want you to understand the repercussions of what you are doing. Your association with Harry has already been noticed," he reminded her.
"And I will tell anyone the same that I have told you; It's not your concern."
"Fine," Edgar sighed. "Bloody hell, you're as stubborn as mother was."
"That's not a bad thing," Amelia replied. "You don't need to worry about me, Edgar, and you don't need to worry about Harry."
With that, she left the room, and Edgar chuckled to himself.
"Oddly enough, I'm more worried about Harry," he snorted amusedly. "He's got his work cut out for him with that one."
"He has," Eliza agreed. "Well, at least we know she's not just fooling around with him."
"How do we know that?" Edgar asked confusedly.
"Oh, you are a poor innocent fool," Eliza cooed. "She's in love, Edgar. If you can't see that, then you must be blind."
Edgar nodded.
"She did say as much. I suppose I didn't believe her."
"She told you she is in love with him? You really are a fool. No woman is going to tell her brother she's in love with a man if she isn't."
"Well, I know that now, don't I?"
Eliza took pity on him and placed a kiss on his cheek.
"Jameson certainly has his hands full, doesn't he?"
Edgar nodded.
"I know how he feels."
"Is that so?" Eliza asked amusedly.
"Yes, it is," Edgar replied, "but I wouldn't have it any other way."
He breathed a sigh of relief as his wife placed another kiss on his cheek.
(Break)
Perhaps he had tried to convince himself that there was no feasible way that Tom Riddle had been the one to attempt to burn down Hogsmeade. Maybe he'd even been somewhat successful, but Albus couldn't deny the presence of the same vile magic that had lingered around his former pupil the night he'd returned to Hogwarts to secure employment.
It had been prevalent in the air around what had been the apothecary in Diagon Alley, just as distinct and singularly unique to the man he'd once taught Transfiguration to.
"Oh, Tom, what have you become?" Albus sighed.
The Headmaster had always known the boy he'd been acquainted with was troubled, but what he had done in both the village and the alley went far beyond a difficult childhood.
No, Tom Riddle was disturbed, and the talent for magic he possessed only made the outlook much bleaker.
Albus had little success in catching the teenager involved in the unpleasantness that seemed to surround him whilst he was in the castle, and he could only imagine as a man, Tom had become even more adept at keeping himself hidden.
After all, not even a whisper of him had reached Albus's ears in the decade or so ago that he had laid eyes on Riddle.
What had he been up to?
Albus could only deduce that whatever it was, it was unlikely to be anything good.
Tom had been an unpleasant boy when he'd first met him, and he'd only become more so during his days at Hogwarts.
Albus had noticed after his third year that he seemed to grow in popularity rather quickly.
Before this, he'd been the subject of ridicule amongst his peers for his lack of a pureblood name, and yet, somehow, he'd overcome that and grown to be a pillar in the Slytherin common room.
What had changed?
Once more, Albus found himself at a loss.
Tom had become excellent at keeping those around him silent about anything pertaining to him.
Avery, Rosier, Nott…
The list went on of those Riddle had formed a close friendship with.
Had he stayed in touch with any of them?
Shortly after he'd graduated, Tom had vanished, and now, he had seemingly returned with deeply sinister intentions.
To what end?
What did he hope to achieve by doing such things?
Was he simply mad, or was there a reason for what he'd done?
Albus simply didn't know.
Tom Riddle had been an exceedingly difficult child to comprehend other than his crueller urges towards those who possessed what he wanted, but what could the Osbornes have what he desired?
The headmaster could think of nothing, and it only made the already sorry state of affairs all the more confusing.
He shook his head as he leaned back in his chair and stroked Fawkes' plumage.
Now, he faced the conundrum of whether he should come forward to the Aurors with what he suspected or should wait to see what Tom would do next.
The former presented the problem that Tom's name would be made public, and that, in turn, could provoke a considerably more violent response from the man.
Lord Voldemort.
Tom had chosen a moniker to keep his identity hidden, and if Albus kept what he knew to himself, it meant that he at least had something of an advantage over Riddle.
It was playing into his hands, but Albus could truly see no other way to put an end to this without doing so.
Of course, he would do his utmost to prevent any further attacks from occurring, but he could not help but think, although it was not his wish, to proceed with caution and hope to capture Tom before any more damage was done.
Already, the guilt of keeping it to himself ate away at him, but were he to pursue the other option, things could quickly become much worse.
Regardless, Albus knew there was no victory to be had, not when so many had already fallen victim to the megalomaniac.
(Break)
He suspected the grin that adorned his lips was quite malevolent in nature, but the Dark Lord was enjoying his handiwork too much to care about the unease of Lestrange and Yaxley, who had brought him the later-than-usual copy of The Daily Prophet.
"I would consider that to be quite a success, wouldn't you, gentlemen?" he asked.
"I would," Yaxley agreed readily.
Lestrange nodded.
"It is already being reported that three other shops have been closed," he informed the Dark Lord. "Only the ones owned or operated by purebloods seem unbothered by what happened."
"And why would anyone of worth show any care?" Voldemort asked with a frown. "They are the victims in this! They have been made to sit idly by whilst lesser people have been given preferential treatment. Some may be too afraid to speak up, Corvus, and that is why we must. If we do not act, what happens in another decade? What about two?"
"I know," Lestrange returned firmly, "but between now and doing what we are setting out to achieve, what will happen?"
"I do not expect it will take long for the Ministry to curb their ways," the Dark Lord assured the man. "They will do all they can to protect their precious mudbloods."
Lestrange didn't seem convinced.
"Tell me, Corvus, what will the lone pureblood do if the Ministry decides that they should not be allowed to keep their wealth any longer, that they must share it with those that have not earned it? The goblins have already proven to be treacherous with their own actions, and they certainly wouldn't resist the pressure that will be applied to them to release what they hold on your behalf."
"I'll take my gold from the bank!"
"To where, Lestrange? Gringotts is the only wizarding bank you can rely on for security to an extent," Voldemort pointed out. "They will find it in your home, and if they cannot, they will simply throw you and yours in Azkaban until you tell them where it is. I have witnessed it in other countries already who did nothing to prevent it. You are experiencing the very beginning of a slippery slope, Corvus, and we must take a stand together, or we will fall alone."
Corvus sneered in response, and Yaxley nodded.
"How can you be certain it will happen here?" the former asked.
"I can't," the Dark Lord answered, "but are you truly willing to risk it, given what you have seen already?"
Corvus scowled as he shook his head.
"No, I am not."
"And others will see sense in joining us soon enough," Voldemort said confidently. "Now, are there any who will be particularly stubborn we should target next?"
"Already?" Yaxley asked.
"We must continue our momentum," the Dark Lord returned. "One more attack, and then we pause. We will wait until the dust settles, and then we will remind them of our presence."
Yaxley nodded his agreement.
"The Auror presence in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley is strong," he warned.
"Then we move on to another area," Voldemort decided. "We keep them guessing where we will be next."
"What about Jameson's place?" Yaxley suggested with a grin. "He could do with being taken down a peg."
"The man who runs the duelling club at Hogwarts?" Voldemort asked. "Yes, that could be interesting, and it would show them all that none are beyond our reach. Make the arrangements, Yaxley. I want a dozen different people from last night to join me."
"Not us?"
Voldemort shook his head.
"That is why I have asked for twelve instead of six," he explained. "I trust you have not asked for anyone incompetent to join our ranks."
"Of course not."
"Then twelve should be enough, but if you have your reservations, gather an extra few. The outcome will be the same."
Yaxley nodded and took his leave of the room, and Lestrange stood.
"What would you have me do, my lord?" he asked.
"My Lord?" Voldemort chuckled. "I must say, I do like the sound of that. For now, nothing. I will be in touch."
Lestrange offered him a bow, and the Dark Lord chose to ignore that he'd addressed him with the title in something of a mockery.
Perhaps he would insist that was how his followers greeted him from now on, though that was something to ponder later.
For now, he had what had been deemed to be quite the popular figure in the community to make an example of.
(Break)
"I want everyone gathered in the restaurant," Harry instructed Thomas.
The man nodded and left to inform the rest of the staff.
For the past several hours, Harry had been hard at work adding to the already impressive security he'd painstakingly installed upon purchasing the building, and he was confident now that his business would not suffer the same fate the Osborne's had.
Voldemort himself couldn't harm this place without Harry knowing well in advance of the attempt.
If Tom were to do so, it would end badly for the Dark Lord.
Already, Harry's patience had come to an end with the man, and he could feel in his bones that it was only a matter of time before their paths would cross.
Prophecy or not, Harry could no longer fool himself into believing he could sit idly by whilst his former foe did as he pleased.
Maybe killing Tom again was the price he was to pay for being given a second chance at life.
Whatever the reason, it was not something Harry would shy away from when the time came.
"Everyone's here, Harry," Thomas announced, pulling him from his thoughts.
He nodded appreciatively before turning towards the waiters, waitresses, bar, and kitchen staff.
"I expect after what happened in Diagon Alley last night that most of you are nervous, and so you should be," he cautioned. "I find it reprehensible that someone could so such a thing to people who had served the community for so long, but the world can be a cruel and ugly place."
The gathered men and women nodded their agreement.
"I understand how you are all feeling," Harry assured them, "and I have taken appropriate action to ensure that neither you nor this restaurant will come to any harm. To begin with, I have added further layers of security to this place. If anyone acts aggressively towards any of you or draws their wand, the reaction will be swift and unpleasant for them. I take your safety very seriously. Along with this, each of you is going to be provided with a portkey and a personal alarm," he continued. "The portkey will take you somewhere safe, and the alarm is for if you feel you need assistance. I will be notified immediately if one is used, and I will be here in a matter of seconds."
He handed each member of staff a button resembling the ones that already adorned their shirts.
"No one outside of this room is to know of the alarms and portkeys," he said firmly. "To notify me of an incident, you need only tap the button three times with your finger, and to activate the portkey, grasp it and say 'safety one'. Understood?"
They all nodded appreciatively, and Harry released a deep sigh.
"I will make a point of being around more often, but you are still to defer to Thomas. He is in charge, and I will only be here to keep an eye on things. Any questions?"
"Just one," Thomas spoke up. "Do you know exactly what happened last night?"
Harry shook his head.
"No," he answered, "but I am taking no chances. Have a good shift, and don't be afraid to use your alarms if you feel the need to. I will not have any of you made to feel uncomfortable. Any prejudice slurs, I want to know about it. Go on, I'm sure you have things to do before we open."
The staff split up to go about their business, and Thomas offered Harry a grateful nod, but he knew it was the least he could do for his members of staff.
If Voldemort did target the restaurant, it would not end as well as the Dark Lord hoped.
(Break)
"Your lot really are everywhere, aren't they?" Jenny murmured as they exited The Three Broomsticks.
They were.
It was impossible to miss the much larger Auror presence in the village, and with Diagon Alley closed to the public, the usual revellers had chosen to come North.
"That's not going to change," Amelia replied with a shrug. "According to Moody, Smith has been given the go-ahead from Leach to recruit another fifty Aurors."
"Fifty?"
Amelia nodded.
"He says that there's not been an increase in personnel for decades and that it is long overdue."
"There does seem to be more trouble these days," Jenny sighed. "With the Quidditch lot, the protests, and now whatever else is going on, I can't say I blame him."
"Me either," Amelia replied, "but it will take months before anything changes. Until then, I expect I'll be working longer days."
"Less time with a certain Mr Jameson then."
"You're as about as subtle as a Bludger to the head, did you know that?"
"I leave subtlety to you, Amelia," Jenny said with a grin. "I prefer the more direct approach. You should be grateful that I'm not like you; if not, I may well have claimed Jameson for myself."
Amelia frowned at the grinning woman, though she couldn't deny it was the truth.
Jenny had more than expressed an interest in Jameson, but it had been him to stop her in her tracks.
His reasoning now, however, didn't make sense.
Harry had been opposed to dating witches, and yet, he and Amelia had grown incredibly close, and she no longer got the impression that they were merely friends or acquaintances.
No, their relationship was far beyond that now.
"Speaking of which…"
"You have to go?" Jenny asked amusedly.
Amelia rolled her eyes at her.
"Yes," she sighed, unable to hide her smile.
Jenny returned the gesture.
"You know, I really am happy for you," she offered sincerely. "I never thought I would see the day that you would give in to the call of the flesh, but you deserve it."
"You make it sound so…feral."
"Isn't it?"
Amelia shot her a pointed look.
"You want it to be," Jenny accused, her eyes widening comically.
"No," Amelia denied. "Well, not feral, but…"
"Physical?"
Amelia groaned.
"I'm not having this conversation with you."
"Yes, you are," Jenny insisted. "Who else are you going to talk to about it, Moody?"
Amelia felt the horror of expression form at the very thought.
"Exactly," Jenny said victoriously. "Come on, Bones, spill it."
"I don't know," Amelia huffed. "It feels like it's going to get there, and it just doesn't happen. It's like he stops himself."
"Have you spoken to him about it?"
"I've been giving hints."
Jenny snorted as she shook her head.
"Men don't do so well with hints. Unless you've taken your clothes off and drawn arrows pointing to where you want him to touch you, you've got no chance."
"I'm not doing that!" Amelia said firmly. "Maybe he just doesn't like me in that way."
"Yeah, that's definitely not it," Jenny chuckled. "Maybe he doesn't want to rush you. It's not as though you have much experience of that kind of thing. Maybe he's waiting for you to make the first move."
"I don't know what I'm doing," Amelia pointed out.
"Then my suggestion is to tell him exactly what you want," Jenny urged. "Come on, Bones, you hunt down murderers for a living. How hard can it be for you to tell a man to have at it?"
"Now you're making it sound so crude."
"It's only crude if it's done right."
"And this conversation is over," Amelia sighed. "I should've known better."
Jenny took her by the wrist before she could leave.
"Talk to him," she urged sincerely. "Either that or leave him in no doubt of what you want. He's already seen you naked."
"Thanks for the reminder," Amelia grumbled, feeling her cheeks beginning to flush. "But I am grateful for the advice, even if it was one of the most painful experiences of my life."
"It could be worse," Jenny soothed. "It could've been your brother instead of me."
Amelia could only shake her head before she activated her portkey.
Only a moment later, she appeared in Jameson's entranceway and found the man in the kitchen poring over a pile of paperwork whilst sipping on a cup of coffee.
She took a moment to observe him and realised that just about anything he did she found to either be endearing or it affected her in ways that such simple things shouldn't.
"Good night?" he asked, pulling Amelia from her thoughts.
She nodded and took the seat opposite him.
"You?"
"Quiet," Harry answered. "I like the quiet nights. You're looking red. Did you have a few glasses of wine?"
"No, I did not," Amelia denied, and she felt her cheeks warming once more.
Jameson merely shook his head as he finished reading his sheet of parchment and took another sip of his coffee.
"Do you find me attractive?" she asked.
He frowned at the question.
"Did I imagine all the times we've kissed?"
Amelia quirked an eyebrow at him.
"You know what I mean, Jameson."
His frown deepened.
"I'm lost," he chuckled amusedly.
Amelia released a deep sigh, not missing the glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Just shut up," she huffed, eliciting a bout of laughter from him.
"Do you think I'd let someone share my bed if I wasn't attracted to them?" Harry asked.
Amelia shrugged.
"Maybe."
"Now you're being belligerent."
"I must get that from you."
He put his mug down and folded his arms across his chest.
"You're a pureblood."
"So?"
"Well, don't all you have to be, well, you know, until you're married?"
It was Amelia's turn to laugh, and she leaned across the table and patted his cheek.
"Oh, Jameson, if you think any pureblood woman really is pure when she walks down the aisle, you really are naïve. Most of them end up getting married because they've been caught being up to no good. That's what happened to Edgar and at least a dozen others I could name."
"But not you?"
"No," Amelia answered honestly. "I was always focused on school and then my career until you came along. I went on dates, but nothing ever came from it. According to one man I went to dinner with, I'm completely unapproachable and disinterested."
"I wouldn't go that far," Harry said amusedly. "You're very cuddly when you're asleep."
Amelia quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Who says I was sleeping?"
His mouth fell agape at the retort, though his expression hardened only a few seconds later.
"What is it?" Amelia asked.
"Someone is trying to break into the restaurant," Harry said darkly. "Coming?"
"Shouldn't we send for the Aurors?"
"There's no time."
Amelia nodded without hesitation, and he took her by the hand.
The two of them were pulled through the void, and she could not ignore the sudden influx of cold, unwelcoming magic that washed over her.
(Break)
"It seems such a shame," the Dark Lord sighed. "It looks to be a fine establishment."
"It is," one of the masked men accompanying him replied. "I have brought my wife here a few times."
The Dark Lord chuckled to himself.
"Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to find another establishment."
Without further delay, he drew his wand and aimed it at the front door to the restaurant, only to balk as his blasting curse rebounded and collided with the man who had spoken.
Not a sound escaped his lips as the top half of his body, from his head to his naval, exploded in a mess of blood, bone, and offal.
The Dark Lord looked upon the remains in surprise, and those that had accompanied him were equally in a state of shock, though they had no time to digest what had happened as a sudden whistling sound rent the air.
Instinctively, Lord Voldemort raised a powerful shield, but his companions were not so responsive.
They collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony, each of them having been skewered by several knives that had come from all directions.
The Dark Lord was uninjured but undeniably taken aback by the resistance they were facing and even more so by the appearance of the man and woman who seemed to materialise before him.
The latter he knew was Amelia Bones.
He'd seen her photo in several newspapers when she'd captured Greyback, but the man was unknown to him.
What he did know, however, was that he exuded a rather sinister aura, not unlike the Dark Lord's own, and he glared fearlessly towards the greater number of attackers.
"Leave," he commanded.
Voldemort laughed in response as he raised his wand.
"You are good," he complimented, "but you are no match for me."
The man had the audacity to smile at him, and the Dark Lord frowned deeply.
"If only you knew," the man whispered before unleashing a torrent of spells.
His own alone were troublesome; fast, vicious, and designed only to kill or maim, but the inclusion of the woman left Voldemort only able to defend himself from the onslaught.
Having been caught unprepared for such a fight, and with a crowd beginning to spill into the street from the disturbance, the Dark Lord decided to cut his losses and make a tactical retreat, much to his chagrin.
However, he wouldn't do so without taking his pound of flesh for the evening, and as he defended another flurry of spells sent towards him, he aimed his own towards a nearby tavern.
Immediately, it was engulfed in fire, and as the smell of burning and the sound of screams filled the air, he shot the pursuing man a victorious grin, one that promised retribution.
Having done so, the Dark Lord activated his portkey, choosing not to focus on the death or capture of his associates but on the success he had managed to salvage despite little going according to plan.