Chapter 31
Harry thought that he'd perhaps be a little nervous about returning to teaching, but it was almost as though he'd never left. It had been one thing to run a defence club once a week in the Great Hall, but being back in his own classroom was another matter entirely.
Some of the students were the very same that had been here during his last tenure as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, though they'd inevitably grown, well, physically, at least.
Arthur Weasley quickly proved to be still as mischievous as ever, and others had seemingly learned nothing from the events that occurred outside of the castle.
Many had become cautious around him, those likely having been directly affected by the attack on the restaurant some three months prior.
The names of those killed had not officially been released, but Harry had made a point to learn those who were involved.
It had made for an unsurprising list, but ever since, all had been quiet in wizarding Britain.
That silence from Voldemort and his followers was only temporary; as it had aways been when the Dark Lord's endeavours had not gone according to plan.
"You have five minutes remaining," Harry announced to his seventh-year class.
They were sitting a practice NEWT exam so that he could get a better understanding of what they would need to focus on throughout the school term.
Having been away for more than two years, he wasn't sure what had been covered, and those who had filled his position in the interim had not documented the progress of the students particularly well.
Two years.
In some ways, it felt as though he'd been gone much longer.
So much had happened, but at the same time, being back at Hogwarts was as familiar as it had ever been, much like the familiarity he could not ignore pertaining to wizarding Britain under the threat of the Dark Lord.
Although there had been no large-scale, further incidents, Voldemort still lurked in the shadows, and what he'd done thus far had not been forgotten.
Both Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley bore the scars of the attacks on them, and the latter still consisted of several shops that had either closed down permanently or not re-opened from fear they would be targeted.
Despite his absence, the name of Lord Voldemort still often past the lips of the public, and even the students within the school.
Harry had noticed it upon his return.
The students were more divided than ever, and there was a certain group of purebloods causing it, all of them bearing names that Harry had not forgotten.
Those in question would meet in secret often, never in the same place twice, and they would do so most carefully.
Lookouts would be posted throughout the school to ensure they were not disturbed, and it was something Harry was currently looking into.
To him, it was no secret what these meetings pertained to; he didn't know how deeply into the embrace of the Dark Lord they had already fallen.
Nonetheless, it was only a matter of time before he discovered it, and with that in mind, he cleared his throat.
"Quills down," he instructed.
The gathered students breathed a sigh of relief, and some of them were horror-struck by what they'd experienced.
Harry had purposely chosen the hardest iteration of the exam he could find, both as a reminder of the standard expected of them and to humble some of the more arrogant in the class.
None of the students appeared to be pleased with their work, and Harry hoped having faced such a rigorous assessment, they would understand they were not beyond the hard work required to secure the NEWT in his subject.
"Pass your papers forward before you leave," he instructed. "I will be marking them over the weekend, and we will discuss it on Monday."
They did so and began muttering unhappily amongst themselves as they left the classroom, leaving Harry with quite the task himself to complete in their absence.
He'd almost forgotten how much additional time teaching took away from him.
The hours in the classroom barely scratched the surface of all he had to do, and given the time he always set aside to spend with Amelia in the evening, it left very little for the other things that required his attention, though he planned on finally beginning to investigate some of his findings pertaining to her parents' murders imminently.
It had been trying at best to figure out where he would start, and that was with only finding the beginning of a thread or two.
Needless to say, it was the most frustrating thing he'd undertaken, but Harry knew it would be worth it.
Whenever he felt overwhelmed, he simply reminded himself of who he was doing it for, and the doubts faded.
It was strange to consider the journey he and Amelia had been on.
It had all begun in a grotty bar in Knockturn Alley, and from there, it had grown into something Harry had come to treasure truly.
If a day went by that he didn't see her, he missed Amelia and her company, more so than he could have ever fathomed.
Although he'd always had friends since he'd started Hogwarts, Harry had been alone for much of his life, and he'd come to appreciate the quiet that came with it.
With Amelia, it was different.
He'd acknowledged that she was beautiful from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, but it had become so much more than that in the time he'd gotten to know her.
She was intelligent, ambitious, and possessed a wit to match his own.
Amelia Bones was a strong woman and one who wasn't intimidated by him, nor did she care for the notoriety he'd unwittingly gained from the incident at the restaurant.
More than anything else, however, was that she cared for him.
Harry could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him. It was done with such affection, even when he was getting on her nerves.
For Harry, it was an alien feeling.
No one had ever looked at him the same way Amelia did, and he'd never felt for another as he did for her.
That was why he was so determined to solve her parent's murder.
He wanted her to be free of the burden and know that those responsible were brought to justice.
Releasing a deep sigh as he checked the clock, Harry realised the students would be having their lunch soon, and then he would be teaching a fifth-year class who were not up to the standard he wanted them to be.
It would be a long year of teaching, but Harry relished the challenge ahead of him, even if it brought along a plethora of other problems he'd need to tackle.
His mind drifted to the Slytherin students.
Some were already deeply unpleasant people, but not all of them were.
It would be easy to let them fall into the embrace of the Dark Lord and to learn a harsh lesson in life, and though it was tempting to do so, Harry knew he had a chance to change the fate of some who were not beyond help, and even saving many lives of innocents in the years to come.
(Break)
One of the most challenging parts of her job was adapting to the inevitable shift change that came around every six weeks or so, especially when changing from working at night to beginning a shift in the early hours of the morning.
For Amelia, it was one of aspect of being an Auror she had never gotten used to let alone enjoyed. It took around a week for her body clock to catch up, even now after being in the job for the better part of seven years.
"I'm so tired," Imelda groaned.
"I know," Amelia assured her, "but it is better to power through and stay awake."
"It's only lunchtime."
"So, only around six or seven hours to go."
Imelda pouted, and Jenny laughed as she joined them at the table.
"Shift change?" she asked amusedly.
Amelia nodded tiredly, fighting back the urge to yawn.
"Ah, so I'll be seeing you at reasonable hours for a while."
"If you think starting work at four am is reasonable…" Imelda huffed.
"You'll get used to it," Jenny said dismissively. "You should do my job for a while. You learn to sleep at all odd hours. There was a time I was sleeping for twenty minutes every two hours when I first started."
"No one mentioned a lack of sleep before I started training. Why didn't anyone mention the lack of sleep?"
Amelia laughed as she poured the woman another cup of coffee.
"Cheer up," she urged. "At least we don't have to deal with the drunks now."
"There is that," Imelda conceded.
"Exactly, and we will get more interesting cases to work on instead of being spat at…"
"Or puked on," Imelda added with a grimace.
She'd been vomited on only a few days prior. It had been the first time she'd experienced it, but Amelia knew it wouldn't be the last.
"Having someone be sick on you isn't the worst thing that can happen," Amelia pointed out.
"It doesn't get much worse," Imelda retorted. "What kind of man will want a woman who's always getting covered in sick?"
"Healers manage to get married, and Bones here found a man. How is Harry?" Jenny asked suggestively as she perused the café menu.
"Tired, mostly," Amelia sighed. "Between working at Hogwarts and doing whatever else it is he does, he's always tired when I get to see him at the end of the day."
It was the truth, though it had been that way even before he'd resumed his teaching post.
Harry was working on something in the basement of his home, and would often disappear down there for hours at a time, returning mentally and physically drained, and frustrated.
Amelia hadn't asked what it was he was doing, and though he tried to forget about his mysterious work when he was with her, he would often drift away with his thoughts.
"So, no, well, you know?" Jenny pressed with a grin.
"Why do you have to make it so sordid?"
"There's nothing sordid about it," Jenny returned. "It's perfectly natural for two people to do that."
"It is," Imelda interjected.
Amelia frowned at the two women before shaking her head.
"It's not that we haven't come close," she admitted, "but with how work has been for both of us recently, it's just not happened. We spoke about it…I don't know, it just hasn't happened."
"But you want it to?"
Amelia glared at her friend but couldn't fight the blush that formed on her cheeks.
"Shut up," she grumbled.
"I'm just trying to help you," Jenny assured her. "Maybe you should make your intentions clear. Leave him with no doubt of what you want."
"How did I do that?"
"I don't know, Bones," Jenny snorted. "Seduce him. Find a way to have that time together, and well, do whatever it takes to make sure he knows exactly what you want."
Amelia could only shake her head in response as the waitress approached and began taking their order.
Maybe Jenny was right, and she would have to take ownership of the situation.
It wasn't as though either of them didn't want it to happen; it just hadn't yet.
Maybe she should change that.
Sometimes, Harry was too much of a gentleman for his own good when it came to the more intimate parts of their relationship.
Amelia just needed to figure out how.
(Break)
He was one of the very few who'd been allowed to view the memory, and he'd lost count of how many hours he'd spent doing so, taking in the minutest of details in his bid to uncover the identity of the self-styled Lord Voldemort.
It had been many years since Smith had worked a case, and he'd certainly never encountered anything like this.
He'd dealt with arsonists, murderers, extortionists, and even men with delusions of grandeur, but none like the rising Dark Lord.
"Something is missing," he murmured to himself in what seemed to be a repeated sentence.
Voldemort claimed to advocate pureblood rights, but so many things did not add up.
Smith's frown deepened as he scrutinised the shadowy features beneath the hood.
Those who had accompanied Voldemort had all donned masks to do so, but not the man himself.
Why?
"What do you think, Grimm?"
He had posed the very same questions that had been plaguing him these past weeks to his colleague.
Derek Grimm was often an abrasive man who no longer possessed the patience to deal with people he once had, but he was still one of the best Smith had ever worked with.
"He's a strange-looking chap, sir," Grimm mumbled, "but it's definitely him who was at Hogsmeade. He's got a face you'd remember, and he's not familiar to me."
"Nor me," Smith sighed irritably.
As a pureblood, he prided himself on being familiar with the other families, and this Voldemort resembled none of them, and yet, he championed pureblood rights.
The purebloods themselves wouldn't follow someone not of their own kind, and Voldemort was indeed British.
"He either believed no witnesses would survive, or he just doesn't give a stuff about people seeing his face," Grimm spoke again, pulling Smith from his musings.
"My thoughts exactly. He's dangerous, Grimm."
"He soon tucked his tail and ran," Grimm pointed out.
Smith shook his head.
"Not from fear. He was surprised by the resistance he faced but not fearful, and he showed no care for his dead comrades around him."
"A sociopath then?"
Smith nodded.
"One of the very worst kind," he murmured thoughtfully. "He has his own goals, Grimm, and he's using the purebloods to achieve it."
"Isn't he a pureblood, sir?"
"We can't even figure out his real name," Smith reminded him. "We have no idea what he is."
Grimm peered beneath the hood.
"No, he's not familiar to me."
"Nor me," Smith replied. "I know the purebloods, Grimm, and he doesn't resemble any of them. Unless he has disguised his features."
"What about the Gaunts, sir? He's claiming to be descended from Slytherin."
"Have you seen the Gaunts, Grimm?"
"Only briefly when they brought Marvolo in when he assaulted Ogden."
"Exactly," Smith said frustratedly. "They were as inbred as they come. This Voldemort looks nothing like them."
"So, the search continues, sir."
"The search continues, Grimm," Smith confirmed, starting the memory again in the hopes of spotting anything he may have missed thus far.
(Break)
Lunch had been a hopelessly fruitless affair.
Arcturus knew what Melania was doing.
She'd arranged the small get-together in a bid to mend the continued rift between him and Cygnus, but her efforts had failed.
Arcturus Black was still wroth with his son, and despite the love he had for his wife, he would not forgive the boy so easily. Cygnus had placed the family in a difficult position, and it could not simply be forgotten.
"Mother, lunch was wonderful," the man in question offered as he stood, gesturing for his wife to do the same.
Druella looked confused by the sudden departure but did not question it.
"You're not staying?" Melania asked disappointedly.
"I'm afraid I cannot," Cygnus answered, shooting a look towards his father. "I have some business to attend to this afternoon. Come, Druella. Father," he added in farewell as the two left the dining room and house only a moment later.
"Well, that wasn't awkward," Charlus snorted. "What's wrong with him? It's like someone shoved a big stick up his…"
"Charlus," Dorea warned. "Not in front of James."
The small boy grinned cheekily at his father.
James was a handful, and he'd always been quite adept at picking up the less refined aspects of the English language since he'd uttered his first words.
The final straw for Dorea had been when the boy had told Andromeda that she had a 'cracking set of knockers', a phrase that none had admitted to speaking around him, and James had refused to tell them where he'd heard it.
Ever since Dorea had not been tolerant of bad language being used around her son.
Arcturus released a deep sigh as he leaned back in his chair, grateful that Melania had the foresight not to invite Walburga or Orion to the meal.
He didn't need the sow sticking her nose in on the matter.
"What's he done?" Charlus asked.
He knew Cygnus too well and that it wasn't uncommon for the man to irritate his father.
"Remember what happened to the restaurant in Knockturn Alley?"
Charlus frowned as he nodded.
"Cygnus was one of the masked prats."
Charlus didn't seem to be surprised by the revelation.
"He survived it?"
"Just," Arcturus said firmly. "He was lucky."
Charlus shook his head disappointedly.
"I thought you told him to involve himself in it, especially after what happened in Hogsmeade."
"I did," Arcturus confirmed, "but the boy didn't listen. When does he ever listen?"
"What are you going to do?" Charlus asked.
Arcturus shrugged.
"I've seen the memory of what happened, Charlus. This Voldemort is no slouch, and neither is Jameson. If I didn't think Jameson was against him, I'd be more inclined to do something."
Charlus nodded his understanding.
"You're hoping that Jameson will kill this Voldemort."
"That's about the measure of it, and if anyone else discovered Cygnus was involved, I'd have to act against Jameson out of principle for what he did to the idiot."
"But you're not going to?"
"Cygnus was wearing a mask," Arcturus reminded his friend. "Jameson didn't know who he was, but he would've learned of it after. He's as resourceful and cunning as they come. He's no restauranteur, that's for certain."
"What is he then?" Charlus asked amusedly.
"I don't know, but he's trained, Charlus, better than we ever were on the continent."
"He is?"
"The man can fight, and I mean really fight. We both saw Grindelwald and what he could do."
Charlus's expression darkened at the mention of the Dark Lord.
"That good?"
"That good," Arcturus replied.
"So, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to speak with him, when the time is right."
"Is that a good idea? If he knows of Cygnus's involvement, he might not be so welcoming. Would you be?"
"I suppose not, but it's an unavoidable conversation," Arcturus shrugged. "He's not acted against me, nor has he approached me to discuss it. I do not know his stance, and I would sooner learn of it before I decide what I am going to do."
Charlus nodded his approval.
"Would you like me to be there? I know what you're like, Arcturus. If he's not so amenable, you let your tongue get away with you."
Arcturus opened his mouth to speak but fell silent from the pointed look his wife gave him.
"I'd appreciate your presence," he murmured.
(Break)
France was not a country Harry had spent much time in. Even during his years as an Unspeakable, he'd had little call to come here, but he'd used some of his free time in recent months to somewhat familiarise himself with Paris.
He'd decided a while ago that this was where his investigation would begin and that the medical examiner who carried out the final report on Amelia's parents was the first person he should speak with.
'Coroner Services Du Allard," he murmured as he spotted the little worn sign on a neglected door in the magical district of the city.
Checking to see that he was not being watched, he entered building to be greeted by an older woman, who offered him a tired et welcoming smile.
"Good evening, sir. How may I be of service to you?" she asked gently.
"Good evening, madame. I was hoping to speak with Monsieur Allard."
The woman's expression fell.
"I'm sorry, my husband is dead and has been for some years now," she explained. "I run the business now."
"Dead?" Harry asked, feeling a sense of trepidation come over him.
Madame Allard nodded.
"More than a decade ago."
"Then perhaps you can help me instead," Harry said thoughtfully. "I am investigating two suspicious deaths that your husband did the examinations for. The name of the subjects was Bones."
Madame Allard's eyes widened, and she began to panic, muttering incoherently in French for several moments before Harry managed to calm her.
"No, no," she whispered frantically. "The last time someone came asking questions about that was the night my husband died. They say he had a bad heart, but he did not. They killed him, monsieur. I cannot prove it, but I know it. My Pierre was a strong man."
"Someone else came and asked?"
"Two men," Madame Allard whispered. "They were foreign, Eastern European, I think. They asked about the Bones file, but my husband told them to leave. He died that very night."
Harry frowned deeply.
"That is suspicious."
Madame Allard nodded as she looked out of the window cautiously.
"The Ministry would not believe me. They took his body, and I wasn't even allowed it back to bury my husband."
"The French Ministry took the body?"
"Yes, and I was told to keep my mouth shut, or I would be put in prison. Please, monsieur, do not make me say anything else."
Harry took the woman's hand and squeezed it gently.
"Madame, I am not a part of the Ministry," he assured her. "I am a Hit-Wizard from the ICW, and I am looking into a series of mysterious deaths. If you can provide me with the Bones file, I may be able to uncover the truth of what happened to your husband, but you must mention it to no one."
Harry showed her his Hit-Wizard licence, and Madame Allard relaxed.
"I have heard of the Hit-Wizards," she whispered. "Some of them were here during the war, helping to fight against Grindelwald."
She seemed to hesitate for a moment and looked out of the window once more before nodding.
"I will help you. Come."
With a flick of her wand, she locked the front door and led Harry to a room in the back.
Inside, the walls were full of shelves, lined with stacks upon stacks of files, and Madame Allard began perusing them.
"This has been the family business of my husband for almost four hundred years," the woman explained. "It is how they became the official examiners of the Ministry of Magic. Pierre was so proud of his work and spent his time between here and the Ministry courtroom giving evidence. It is how we met. I was an examiner, and we worked together. Pierre was so charming and such a kind man."
Harry listened to her fond words.
It was clear that she had loved her husband dearly.
"Ah, here it is," she declared a moment later. "Wait, no, that's not right."
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"It is empty, monsieur," Madame Allard said worriedly. "No, it cannot be. My husband was very meticulous with his filing. He would not have misplaced it."
"Then it was taken."
Madame Allard frowned confusedly.
"I do not see how," she murmured. "This room can only be accessed by me, and my husband until he died. Wait, I will check the catalogue."
Using her wand, she opened a hidden draw at the bottom of one of the shelves, and removed a thick, leather book. Flicking through it, she paused when she reached one of the pages and checked the shelf once more.
"It should be here," she said frustratedly, "and three others are missing too. No, he would not be so careless with his papers."
"Three others are missing?"
Madame Allard nodded.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot help you, monsieur, not without the file, but I will write the names of the others down, if you think it will be useful?" she offered. "I will keep looking, but I do not think they will be here."
Harry nodded.
"Thank you," he said sincerely, pondering just what had happened to the file.
He was in no doubt that it had been taken and not simply misplaced.
Someone had wanted the file, and likely bad enough to murder Pierre Allard to obtain it.
"Here, these are the names," Madame Allard said, offering him a slip of parchment. "What good it will do, I don't know. Come back in a few days, and I see what I can find for you."
Harry smiled appreciatively.
"Thank you, madame," he replied. "I will get to the bottom of this and what happened to your husband. Are there any other medical examiners in France?"
"Only the one inside the Ministry. When my husband died, they decided to create their own. Without the family reputation, they decided they did not wish to do business with us anymore."
That only made Harry more suspicious of the circumstances surrounding the death of Pierre Allard, a sentiment evidently shared by his widow.
"Thank you again," Harry offered, carefully removing any trace of his presence and ensuring his identity remained hidden as he exited the building.
It was all too suspicious, to say the least, and the events surrounding the death of the examiner were certainly not coincidental. As with everything else pertaining to the deaths of the former Lord and Lady Bones, it was deeply suspicious, and Harry suspected it would only become more so the deeper he dived down the rabbit hole he found himself navigating.
(Break)
It was close to six pm that Amelia heard the disturbance in the entrance hall announcing that Harry had returned home. As had become the norm, he looked tired, and somehow disheartened this evening.
"Are you okay?" she asked as he entered the kitchen.
He seemed taken aback by the sight that greeted him, and Amelia fiddled with the strings of her apron.
"You're cooking?" he asked amusedly, his expression brightening.
"You don't think I can cook?"
"Can you?"
"Well, Helga did help me, but I did most of it myself," Amelia defended.
Harry chuckled as he pulled her into his arms.
"And why have you decided to cook?" he asked suspiciously. "Did you break something?"
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him.
"Am I not allowed to do something nice for no other reason than I want to?"
"You are."
"Then be quiet and sit down. It's almost ready."
He offered her a mock salute as he did so, which Amelia chose to ignore. Instead, she busied herself by retrieving some plates and cutlery, only to turn towards the oven as the smell of smoke wafted under her nose.
"Bugger!" she groaned as she removed the burnt chicken from within. "Don't say anything," she warned.
Jameson was doing his utmost not to laugh, and he held up his hands placatingly though he said nothing. All of his effort was being put into not showing how funny he found the situation, and he was failing miserably.
"Jameson," Amelia chastised.
The dam finally broke, and Harry laughed uncontrollably.
Amelia didn't know if she wanted to throttle him or if she was just happy to see him unbothered by whatever else was going on in his life for the moment.
"What a disaster," she huffed, scowling at the charred bird. "I'm sure I put it in for the right amount of time."
"If your plan was to cremate it, then yes," Harry replied, wrapping his arms around her once more. "I appreciate the effort."
"No, you don't," Amelia said sulkily. "You're laughing at me."
"Wouldn't you laugh at me if I did it?"
"That's not the point," Amelia huffed.
"You're just pretending to sulk to get sympathy."
"Is it working?"
Harry shook his head as he held her tighter.
"It is," he sighed. "For some reason, I've developed quite a weakness for you."
His tone was sincere, and his words warmed Amelia.
"Is that such a bad thing?"
"Frighteningly," Harry chuckled. "It's dangerous to become fond of an Auror. You know things others don't."
"That's true," Amelia conceded. "Anyway, it's too late for you now."
"Is it?"
Amelia nodded.
"It is," she replied, patting his cheek. "You may as well admit that you're stuck with me."
"I wasn't before?" Harry asked. "You could've told me!"
Amelia rolled her eyes at the man.
He was teasing her again.
"Shut up, Jameson," she grumbled. "Wait, there is something I've been wondering."
"What's that?"
"There's something we haven't done yet, and it's been bothering me for a while."
He looked at her questioningly, and Amelia stepped out of his embrace.
"Why haven't we duelled each other?"
Harry seemed taken aback by the question, and he frowned confusedly.
"Why haven't we duelled?" he echoed. "Is that what you think about when you look at me?"
"No," Amelia answered, "but I thought that asking about the other thoughts I have would be impolite."
"And what thoughts would they be?" Harry pressed.
Amelia suddenly felt nervous but equally excited, and she felt her blood begin to pump around her body.
Her mouth felt dry, and she licked her lips before responding.
"Do I have to spell it out to you?"
It was strange to feel apprehensive and so out of control of her mind and body, but despite her best efforts, Amelia could find no clarity.
Harry merely stared at her, and a sense of impatience and restlessness washed over Amelia. That, coupled with the hunger she felt for him, spurred her on, and she captured his lips in a searing kiss.
"No, you don't need to spell it out for me," he murmured as they broke apart, both breathing heavily from the want coursing through them.
(Break)
He eyed the cup, which now contained a piece of his soul, curiously before retrieving it and pushing himself to his feet. Creating the Horcrux had been a more taxing ordeal than any of the others, and when the Dark Lord looked towards the clock, he realised he'd been unconscious for the better part of seventeen hours.
The fatigue he was experiencing was the worst yet, and he vividly remembered the struggle of separating the soul this time around compared to the others.
The first Horcrux had been easy, and he'd recovered in a matter of moments. The rest, however, had become steadily harder to achieve, but he was so close now.
Voldemort knew he had to accept that thirteen separations were out of the question, but seven, an equally powerful magical number, was not beyond his reach.
The Dark Lord laughed to himself at the prospect of his achievement and just how the world would react when he proved to them that he could not be killed by any, let alone the likes of Dumbledore or Harry Jameson.
Jameson.
Yaxley and the others had mentioned the man, but Voldemort had been rather dismissive of any threat against him.
Of course, Jameson could not kill him, though that would not be from lack of trying. Oh, Jameson had tried and had even offered a few unexpected surprises.
Dumbledore would've attempted to apprehend the Dark Lord, a weakness when one was unwilling to fight with their full arsenal, but Jameson was cut from a different cloth to the revered headmaster.
He'd had no qualms about delving into dark magic to defend himself, his restaurant, and the redhead Amelia Bones who'd accompanied him.
The Dark Lord was not beyond giving credit where it was due, and Harry Jameson, from what little he'd seen, had proven himself to be quite the exceptional wizard in his own right.
Still, it only made the man's inevitable defeat that much more satisfying, and already, Lord Voldemort was in the throes of ensuring that happened sooner rather than later.
Bones would join him.
The Dark Lord had no time for heroes trying to stand in his way, and the slaughter of the duo and Dumbledore would pave the way for his takeover.
Despite the fatigue and need for more rest, Voldemort's lips crested with a smile as he envisioned the demise of all three and distracted himself from his temporary poor condition by imagining just how he would dispatch them.
Soon enough, they would be dealt with, and each would die screaming with pleading words on their tongues. Those words would fall only on deaf ears, but the screams would become treasured sounds the Dark Lord would get no small amount of joy from hearing.
(Break)
Harry watched from a distance as the French Aurors removed the body of Madame Allard from the ashy remains of the premises before his gaze swept around the street.
There was no one who raised suspicion, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for what had happened to the woman.
He was not foolish enough to believe that the fire and her subsequent death were a mere coincidence.
No, this had been done intentionally, and it seemed that fire was not only popular amongst Voldemort and his followers.
Madame Allard had been intentionally targeted, and undoubtedly because of Harry's investigation.
How any had learned of his visit, he didn't know, but what he had learned was that whoever was responsible, they were exceedingly well-connected and equally dangerous.
It was troubling, but if nothing else, it only made discovering the truth all the more important.
Carefully approaching beneath his cloak, Harry listened to a pair of Aurors who were having a conversation.
"The smell is terrible."
"Any idea what happened?"
"The door was blown off the hinges, and she was beaten badly. They tied her to the chair before lighting the fire and leaving."
The other Auror cursed under his breath.
"Poor old girl," he sighed. Come on, we'll get the place shut down and the crowd moved on."
They set about the task, and Harry took advantage of the situation to have a look around for himself.
He quickly found that the Auror had been correct in his findings, but something immediately caught Harry's attention.
The drawer on the shelf Madame Allard had accessed was open, and there was no sign or the large leather tome kept within. That meant that someone had taken it and had to have known its existence.
The murder and the fire were merely a cover for the theft, though Harry suspected both would've occurred with or without the presence of the book.
Someone had been watching Madame Allard closely enough to know that he'd visited her, and they wished to ensure she could not share anything further that she may have found pertaining to Harry's queries.
It was unsettling, to say the least, but it did now present Harry with a new line of inquiry to follow.
Still, he would have to tread very carefully whilst he proceeded.
These people had proven they were willing to do whatever they believed necessary to prevent the truth from being uncovered, but Harry was more determined.
If anything, this only proved his theory that this was much bigger than he'd first anticipated, but he would not be deterred, not when he felt he was finally on the cusp of a breakthrough.