All for one

by midnightsstar9212

For you

34. Chapter 34

Chapter 33

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Harry murmured, smiling as the familiar lines of the map formed on the piece of parchment he'd been poring over in what little free time he'd had in recent months.

The original, created by the Marauders, had been left behind the night he'd been transported here, but during his years as an Unspeakable, he'd managed to decipher how it was created.

How a group of young teenagers had managed such a feat, Harry didn't know. It had taken him weeks of work to identify all the spells imbued into the parchment and even longer how they had been woven together.

Replicating it had been frustrating, but judging by the little labelled dots milling around the castle, he'd got it right.

Of course, he'd seen fit to make some improvements and add the rooms he knew of that the Marauders had never found. For the most part, however, it worked much the same as the original.

Harry shook his head as he located the Slytherin students holding a conference on the fourth floor in an abandoned classroom.

He recognised all of the names, though one was noticeably absent.

He frowned as he scanned the map, and he eventually located the girl in her dormitory.

That explained why Arcturus Black had arrived at Hogwarts earlier in the day, and he nodded satisfactorily.

He had no doubt the man had looked into all Harry had told him and had acted accordingly.

Black had taken all three of his granddaughters out of their classes to speak with them and had evidently forbidden them from being involved in whatever the rest of their housemates were up to.

Harry couldn't blame the man.

Although Arcturus was rather tolerant towards half-bloods and muggleborns compared to some of the other Blacks Sirius had told him about, when the truth came of Tom's origins became known, it would be shameful for him that members of his family were choosing to follow someone he considered lesser.

Harry was under no illusion that Arcturus Black sympathised with muggleborns, but to have been fooled by someone omitting his own blood status was not something he would allow.

Shaking his head amusedly, he cleared the map and placed it in his pocket.

It was proving to be an exceptional tool, though he wished it could assist him with the other problems he was attempting to solve.

Broz, the former Polish Minister of Magic and representative of the ICW, had gone to ground since his political career had ended in controversy.

It turned out that he'd been caught up in a large financial scandal, of which the details were lacking, and he'd been all but ousted from both of his positions.

What was stranger was that his successor was his deputy, and his own past was rather sordid. However, Harry was not focusing on him right now, even if his time in prison for extortion and other violent crimes was quite the revelation.

No, Broz had been in power during the murder of Lord and Lady Bones, and Harry was keen to speak with the man if only he could be located.

He would find him.

As with everything else pertaining to his efforts, it was only a matter of time before he had a breakthrough, but it was frustrating that nothing seemed to come easily.

The search for Broz and the truth continued, and were it not for the immediate concern of the somewhat free Morfin Gaunt, perhaps Harry would be able to focus more on it without Riddle proving to his ever-irksome self.

There was no denying he'd already made irrevocable changes.

His involvement in Tom's efforts was a testament to that. Harry, however, had been taken aback by Smith's initiative, and the man concluding Gaunt's connection to the budding Dark Lord was something he was certain had not happened previously.

Dumbledore had learned what he could from Morfin before he would eventually die in Azkaban, and the impending trial had muddied the waters of what Harry had anticipated happening.

It was almost unavoidable that Tom already knew of it, despite how cautious Smith was being.

The problem Harry faced was the lack of knowing what would happen next.

Although Tom was often as predictable as the changing tides, he could also be frightening erratic.

If he did indeed know of Smith's intention to place Morfin in front of the Wizengamot, what did he intend to do?

It was a pertinent question, and one Harry knew he couldn't ignore.

For his uncle to out him was something the Dark Lord would not wish to happen, and because of that, Harry did not expect him to allow what would undoubtedly happen to come to pass simply.

No, Tom would act or have others act on his behalf to ensure Morfin couldn't testify.

That meant Morfin and, undeniably, Smith, were both in imminent danger.

It was troubling, to say the least, and only added to the many problems Harry found himself attempting to tackle.

Still, he couldn't sit idly by and allow either to be harmed.

Already, he'd set his plans into motion to ensure that didn't happen, but with Tom, even the best-laid solutions could prove to be fruitless. There were many reasons he'd garnered such a reputation for himself the first time around, and killing those thought to be quite untouchable was one of them.

That was why he became so feared, why he was seen as such a threat.

When people realised that were not safe, even in the most protected of places, it gave them cause to notice and fear the man who wanted nothing more than to seize power and crush them beneath his heel.

Harry had grown up understanding that fear, understanding the threat that hung over him, but the people of magical Britain now were living through Tom Riddle's initial rise and were learning to harbour the same fear Harry had experienced until he'd killed his foe.

What troubled Harry so was that, already, he'd seen the changes for himself.

People were beginning to shy away from one another and question if those they knew were on the side of the Dark Lord and his followers.

Diagon Alley was becoming less frequented, and what was worse was that what they'd witnessed so far was only the beginning.

Many dark days lay ahead of them all, and though they didn't know it yet, Harry was in no doubt that they would soon enough.

(Break)

He watched as the members of the family filed into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, lamenting that in only a few generations, their numbers had dwindled significantly.

The premature deaths of his father and brother did not help, and with Alphard having been cast out of the family for his lifestyle choices, there was much less of them than Arcturus liked.

That wasn't to mention his older sister, which Arcturus seldom did.

Cassiopeia had made her choice when she chose to serve Grindelwald instead of the family.

Arcturus had seen her only a handful of times since Dumbledore had defeated her maser, and each had ended with them fighting, often close to wands being drawn.

Of course, he'd had two sons of his own in Orion and Cygnus, and the former bore two sons; Sirius and Regulus.

Cygnus had three daughters, none of whom would likely keep the family name in the years to come.

That left Orion's boys to continue the family legacy.

It was not a comforting thought for the current Lord Black, and it had been one of the reasons he'd decided to take decisive action.

No matter what was to happen in the world around them, the Blacks would not be involved in the ongoing conflict.

"Thank you all for joining me," he murmured, his gaze shifting between each member of the family before coming to rest briefly on Sirius.

Should he live a long and fruitful life, Arcturus expected the boy to succeed him, which in truth, was a damned sight more promising than his father.

Orion was no fool, but he lacked the ruthlessness to be Lord of the family.

The man was hen-pecked like no other, and though Walburga had produced two sons to ease his mind, Arcturus could barely tolerate the woman.

She believed herself to be much more important than she was, but she was little more than a raving, petulant child in a woman's body.

"Why did you ask us here, Father?" Orion enquired curiously.

"I'm sure he is about to tell us," Walburga huffed.

Arcturus frowned as he held up his hand to ensure he was not interrupted.

"I have been considering our position," he answered, "and reached a decision."

"Considering our position?" Druella asked confusedly. "About what, exactly?"

"About where we will stand in what is happening around us with this Voldemort."

Cygnus looked distinctly uncomfortable with the mention of the man, and the others muttered amongst themselves.

Isn't it obvious?" Walburga snorted. "We should support him!"

Arcturus's nostrils flared, and he did not miss the derisive snort of Charlus.

Walburga glared at Lord Potter, a gesture the man returned keenly.

"No, we will not!" Arcturus said firmly.

"We will not?" Walburga scoffed.

Arcturus shook his head.

"I will not see our family decimated more than it has been in recent decades," he explained.

"We will be decimated if we do not support him!" Walburga returned.

"How so?" Charlus broke in with a frown.

"The mudbloods will take our wealth and our positions!"

"Your wealth and positions?" Charlus chuckled. "Tell me, Walburga, what wealth do you have? And excuse me, but you have no position. You are Orion's wife."

Walburga glowered at Charlus, and Arcturus interjected before the man could rile her temper further.

My decision is final!" he snapped. "I have already visited Hogwarts and instructed the girls to distance themselves from any involvement there."

"You did what?" Cygnus sputtered.

"You heard," Arcturus growled, "and you will disassociate yourself, Cygnus. You've caused enough problems for me."

The man flushed red, and Druella looked at him questioningly.

"What does he mean, Cygnus?"

"So, you didn't even tell your wife?"

Cygnus merely scowled in response.

"Tell me what?"

Arcturus looked towards his son pointedly, and when he realised Cygnus would say nothing, he shook his head in disappointment.

He'd never been able to own up to the mistakes he'd made, and that hadn't changed over the years.

"Your husband was part of the group who attacked Jameson's restaurant. The damned fool is lucky to be alive."

"Cygnus, you didn't?"

The man shrugged, though he couldn't bring himself to look at his wife.

"That was why you disappeared for a few days. You told me you were away on business."

"He was in St Mungo's," Arcturus explained. "Out of the fifteen that attacked the place, only two lived, and you're bloody lucky that I managed to smooth things over with Jameson. You know, he could've slit your throat whilst you were in your hospital bed."

Cygnus swallowed deeply.

"Jameson is a filthy half-blood," Walburga seethed. "How dare he…"

Arcturus slammed his hand on the table in anger.

"Shut up!" he commanded. "Jameson defended his business, as is his right, and he granted us the courtesy of not taking the matter further. At the very least, he could've had Cygnus locked in Azkaban. Besides, he may be a half-blood, but so is this Voldemort."

"He is the heir of Slytherin!"

"And the son of a muggle and a Gaunt!" Arcturus bit back. "His real name is Tom Riddle, after his father, who he murdered when he was only sixteen. We will not be involved in whatever it is he intends to do, and that is my final word. If any of you defy me, you can consider yourself no welcome in my presence. Is that understood?"

Druella, Orion, Dore, Sirius, and Regulus all nodded readily, but Walburga and Cygnus did not respond.

"I will say no more on the matter but do not doubt my word. If you choose him over your own blood, you will live with that choice for as long as it takes before your last breath is torn from your lungs. Now, get out!"

They all left, save for Charlus, who chose to remain behind.

"You're doing the right thing," he said reassuringly.

Arcturus nodded.

"I know," he muttered.

Much to his dismay, Jameson had told only the truth, and though Arcturus had no intention of involving himself in Riddle's plans, he could not deny that it had stung his pride that the half-blood knew more than him on the matter.

Still, he expected Jameson to be a man of his word.

The two would never be friends, but he'd earned something akin to respect from Lord Black and had even perhaps spurred him into an action that would preserve what remained of his small family.

(Break)

"I do hope that you have brought me some welcome news."

Avery shrugged as he took the seat opposite.

"It could be good, depending on what you do with the information," he replied. "My sources tell me that Smith intends to present Gaunt in front of the Wizengamot this coming Tuesday."

The Dark Lord frowned thoughtfully.

"That gives us only a few days," Yaxley pointed out.

"It does," Voldemort acknowledged. "I must get to him and Smith."

Avery snorted as he shook his head.

"You have no chance," he said dismissively. "Smith arrives directly into his office via portkey, and they've got Gaunt locked up and guarded day and night. You'll never get to either."

"Nonsense," Voldemort said dismissively. "There is always an opportunity. Yaxley, any suggestions?"

The man rubbed his beard as he pondered the predicament.

"I can only think of one, but even that comes with more risk than I'd like."

"Then share it," Voldemort commanded.

"Well, Selwyn's nephew is an Auror," he explained. "I expect only an Auror can access Gaunt."

Avery nodded.

"Well, we need a way to ensure he can grant access."

"Will he do it?"

"He will if he knows what's good for him," Yaxley growled. "Selwyn will lean on the whelp. The problem we have is making sure you're not disturbed. You may have to forget about Smith for the time being."

The Dark Lord scowled unhappily.

"Go on," he urged.

"We need a distraction," Yaxley declared. "We need something that will empty the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Nothing short of an emergency will do that," Avery sighed.

"Then we create one," Yaxley returned with a grin.

"I don't like it," Avery grumbled. "If you remember correctly, Yaxley, your last plan resulted in more than a dozen of ours being killed."

"How was I supposed to know Evans was so prepared?" Yaxley bit back irritably.

"Gentlemen," the Dark Lord cut in before the two could continue bickering. "Let us remain focused on the problem at hand. Go on, Corbin."

"The Quidditch match," Yaxley suggested. "If we create enough chaos, the Aurors will arrive in droves. It may give you enough time to get to Gaunt."

Voldemort nodded thoughtfully.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Well, the Bats are playing the Magpies. Both sets of supporters like to create a bit of a ruckus. We just have to fan the flames. Put a few of our own on each side to stir it up."

The Dark Lord hummed.

"Will it work?"

"This is Quidditch, my lord," Yaxley chuckled. "It will work."

"Then see it is done," Voldemort instructed. "Nothing must go awry, Corbin. Gaunt must not make it to the meeting on Tuesday."

Yaxley offered him a reassuring nod as he stood.

"Of course," he replied before taking his leave of the room.

"I don't like it," Avery murmured. "Too many things can go wrong with this."

"And so many can go right," Voldemort returned. "The risk is worth the reward."

It was.

If he could eliminate his uncle, the man could not testify to what truly happened the better part of two decades prior, and if time allowed, he could even silence Smith in the process.

The man had gotten too close to the truth for comfort, and the Dark Lord could not allow it to become public knowledge, something that was unavoidable if Smith was to address the Wizengamot.

No, that would not do.

Smith had to be eliminated along with Morfin Gaunt.

It was the only way to ensure that whatever he'd managed to uncover remained out of the public sphere.

(Break)

Albus rubbed his eyes tiredly.

He'd thought Tom Riddle had ceased being his problem the moment he learned that the man had left the country, but given recent events and what was to occur in the coming days, it was not to be.

Somehow, Tom had only become crueller during his time away, or perhaps he'd always been so but had been better at concealing it.

It was one thing to bully and intimidate his fellow students and orphans over the course of the summer. Still, to outright murder a family in Diagon Alley and several others in Hogsmeade showed how hateful his former student was.

Then there was what he'd learned from Harry.

His own family.

Tom had callously murdered his father and grandparents before framing his uncle for the deed.

Such a thing spoke only of someone so detached from any other that it almost saddened the headmaster.

What was clear was that Tom needed to be stopped, and though he admired Smith for his intention to see Morfin Gaunt free, Albus could not help but think that when he was, his days were numbered.

To Tom, his uncle was little more than a loose end, and he would certainly do what was necessary to see it tied up.

Smith, too, was in danger.

Evidently, and although he'd not revealed all he knew to Albus and the Minister whom he'd met with to discuss his intention, he'd learned a considerable amount about Tom and to the budding Dark Lord, such knowledge was dangerous, especially as he'd gone to great lengths to conceal his true identity.

No, Albus couldn't shake the feeling that something would go amiss before the meeting.

Tom would not risk it taking place, not when so much was at stake for the man.

What he would do, Albus didn't know.

Riddle had always been quite unpredictable, and he had proven that with his recent actions.

Despite his best efforts to assuage his concerns, the headmaster could not rid himself of the sense of unease, and he couldn't help but think that Harry was in just as much danger as Smith and Gaunt.

The young man knew too much already and much more than even Albus could have anticipated.

He had mentioned it to Harry and urged him to proceed with caution for what good it would do. He seemed quite determined to see Tom brought to justice, having taken the attempt on his life and restaurant to heart.

It would end badly for someone, and though Albus had every faith in Harry's ability, Tom's cruelty knew no bounds. It was only a matter of time before he acted again in a way that would see many harmed.

Releasing a deep breath, he stroked Fawkes' plumage in a bid to seek comfort.

"What do you think?" he murmured.

The phoenix trilled, but it was not as convincing as Albus would've hoped for.

"Me either," he sighed. "Me either."

(Break)

"They're more lively than usual," Imelda pointed out.

Amelia nodded.

"It's almost the end of the season," she reminded the other woman. "Every point they can get counts. It's going to be a long one today. They will be drunker, louder, and even more belligerent."

"Great," Imelda replied sarcastically.

"Cheer up, lass," Moody chuckled. "You never know, you might get your first broken bone."

Imelda shook her head.

"I bet that if you weren't an Auror, you'd be with them. You enjoy fighting too much."

"Aye, it's in my blood," Alastor said proudly. "There's nothing like a good punch-up to remind yourself that you're alive."

"You are off your head."

Moody merely grinned in response.

"And here comes the Magpies lot," he announced, nodding towards the large group of men stalking towards the stadium. "Jarvis."

"Who's Jarvis?" Imelda asked curiously.

"Henry Jarvis," Moody growled. "He's no fan of the sport. He just likes to cause trouble. We've come to blows more than a few times."

"So, he just comes to start fights?"

"Aye, and he's good at it, the smug git."

Jarvis passed them and offered Moody a cocky grin.

"I'll be seeing you, Moody," he snorted.

"Aye, I'm sure you will."

Amelia could only shake her head.

Perhaps Imelda was right in her estimation that Alastor would be amongst the crown if he'd not chosen to become an Auror. The man enjoyed the rougher aspects of the job, and he excelled in them.

"Come on, we'd best head inside," Amelia decided. "It seems like that's finally the last of them."

"It's a big crowd," Imelda observed. "Bigger than usual."

Amelia frowned as her gaze swept around the stadium. I was almost filled to capacity, and although Quidditch was indeed a favourite pastime in Britain, it was often there was such a turnout.

"Keep your wits about you," she instructed. "You'll need to today."

(Break)

"You know what you have to do, Selwyn," the Dark Lord reminded the trembling man.

He nodded, though he was not happy about the task he'd been given.

"I do."

"You will be greatly rewarded," Voldemort assured him.

Selwyn did not wish to be greatly rewarded.

The man was a stooge of the Ministry, but with a few select words pertaining to the ongoing safety of his family, he'd become rather pliant.

Not that the Dark Lord had time for such fickle men.

Masking his disgust at the coward, he readied himself to leave.

"Yaxley, you have ensured a distraction?"

"Our men are in place, my lord," Corbin answered. "They know when to act."

"Good," Voldemort praised. "Then let us not stand on ceremony."

Seizing the reluctant Selwyn under the arm, he activated his portkey and waited for the opportune moment to strike.

He'd spared his uncle's life for the sole purpose of the man shouldering the blame for what he'd done to his muggle relatives, and now that he'd outlived his usefulness and was even proving to be irksome, it was time to rescind the mercy he'd bestowed.

Morfin Gaunt would not live to see another day.

(Break)

The outbreak of violence happened so suddenly that before Amelia could comprehend what was happening, her wand was in her hand, and she was defending herself against an onslaught of spells being exchanged between the opposing fans.

Despite the often-volatile atmosphere between them, there was something of an unwritten agreement that no wands were to be drawn to avoid innocent bystanders being injured.

That agreement, however, had been quickly abandoned today.

Amelia didn't know who'd fired the first spell, but a rebuttal had come quickly, and wide-scale violence had erupted around the stadium.

People screamed and charged towards the exits in a bid to protect their children and other loved ones, and the Aurors did their utmost to put an end to the fighting, to no avail.

Somewhere along the way, Amelia and Imelda had been separated from Moody and the rest of the group, leaving them quite vulnerable to any who would take the opportunity to attack them, which seemed to be plentiful.

"Don't panic," Amelia encouraged as she aimed a stunning spell towards a man who was chairs towards the Magpies' fans. "If you panic, you will make a mistake."

Imelda had paled considerably, but she nodded and continued to fend off the marauding fans.

It was all they could do whilst they were alone, and with the violence only growing, Amelia's assessment of it being a long day was proving to be correct.

She only hoped the crowd would be brought under control before anyone was seriously injured, though she could not see how.

Even with a brief glance around her, she saw several unmoving figures slumped on the ground, and yet, the fighting continued.

This was undoubtedly the worst she'd experienced at a Quidditch match, and judging by the willingness to commit further violence, she expected it would only get worse.

(Break)

Match days were always stressful throughout the department, and it wasn't uncommon for one or more of the Aurors in attendance to be injured in the line of duty.

Often, Moody required a day or so of respite, but as the alarms notifying those in the office of an ongoing emergency began to blare, Smith could only shake his head irritably.

Leaving his own office, he began shepherding his team towards the apparation point.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"A mass fight has broken out at the Magpies' stadium," one of the men informed him. "Not just fists, sir. Wands have been drawn."

Smith nodded.

"We wait for the others to arrive," he decided. "Arrange yourselves into groups, and you will be sent off. You lot, get there now and keep me informed of what is happening. Do nothing else until support arrives."

"Yes, sir," the five Aurors chorused before vanishing.

"Grimm?"

"I'm already on it," the man declared, drawing his wand before he too vanished.

He would be at the stadium to coordinate the influx of Aurors he would be receiving.

In the moments that passed, the office did indeed flood with those not currently on duty or who'd been elsewhere, and Smith cleared his throat loudly.

"I'm sure you are aware of what is happening," he barked. "I want it stopped. Grimm is waiting for you, and I will be here to receive further reports and pass on instructions. This is no run-of-the-mill brawl we have happening. Stay sharp and look out for one another."

They began vanishing in their groups and Smith kept up his vigil, waiting for the reports to begin coming in.

"I can't stand waiting around," he muttered irritably. "I feel so helpless. Don't you, Jenkins?" he asked the Auror assisting him today.

"I do," the man confirmed.

The first report came from a panting Auror who arrived some minutes after the last group left. He was sweating profusely and trembling as he reeled off a hurried explanation.

"We have six Aurors injured, sir. The fighting is still ongoing, but we are trying to isolate the groups from one another. Twelve arrests have been made."

With that, he disapparated to continue assisting his colleagues, and Smith cursed under his breath.

"I really hate waiting around," he reiterated. "I'd much rather be out there with them."

"That's not your job anymore, sir," Jenkins reminded him. "You're needed here."

Smith nodded reluctantly.

"I know, Jenkins," he sighed. "How do you cope with it?"

"I have faith in them, sir," Jenkins answered. "You have some of the best-trained witches and wizards in the country at your disposal. They will get it done, sir, because they always do."

His words were oddly comforting, and Smith nodded appreciatively, though what little relief he felt was short-lived as another alarm sounded.

This one was not the same as the last, and he felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

"The cells!"

Without waiting for his assistant, Edward Smith charged towards the holding cells on the far side of the same floor within the Ministry of Magic, only coming to a halt when he found the door refusing to open at his command.

Frowning, he tore frantically at the magic holding it until it relented, only to be blinded by a sudden, bright green light.

"Avada Kedavra!" a cold voice spoke.

Smith felt himself being sent crashing to the ground and was greeted by the dull thud of something heavy landing next to him.

"I have no time for cowards!" the voice spoke again. "Ah, Smith, I did wonder if you would be joining me. You did not think I would let you proceed with your plan, did you?"

Edward looked up and took in the scene around him.

At the feet of the tall, pale man was a figure garbed in the familiar robe of his own Aurors and the corpse of Morfin Gaunt. Next to him, Smith saw the unmoving form of Jenkins, and he swallowed deeply.

He was alone with the grinning Tom Riddle, who had his wand levelled towards him.

Edward Smith was no stranger to violence.

He'd seen more than enough of it during his years as an Auror, and he'd become rather proficient in it in his own right. To be an Auror for as long as he had been, you had to be.

Accepting this threat as he always had, he sprung nimbly to his feet and drew his own wand.

Riddle's grin widened predatorily as he did so.

"Your courage will be for nothing," he said matter-of-factly. "You have quite the reputation. Killing you will be an example to any other who dare defy me."

Smith offered no verbal response.

Instead, he began fighting in earnest, hurling spell after spell towards Riddle, who returned the gesture without hesitation.

The floor and walls around them trembled under the strain put upon them, and Edward felt the air slowly but surely being forced out of his lungs.

It was one thing to face off with a criminal on the street, but Riddle was quickly proving to be far beyond that.

His form and casting were as impeccable as Smith had ever seen, and the sheer power radiating from the man was indeed quite the spectacle. It was all he could do to defend himself, and he quickly fell into a pattern of doing just that, unable to mount any offence beyond his initial offering.

"Is that the best you have, Smith?" Riddle goaded.

Edward frowned deeply at the mockery, but he was not foolish enough to allow his emotions to take over.

Such a thing was foolishly dangerous, and doing so was trained out of the new recruits as a priority.

Edward was a veteran and one in the art of mind games.

Riddle would not break him.

Realising this, the Dark Lord snarled in irritation before continuing on with his relentless attack, and though Edward did his utmost to match him, the task to do so was nigh on impossible.

Curse upon curse was spewed towards him: searing curses, cutting curses, and all manner of unpleasant accompaniments, along with many he did not recognise.

He avoided those completely, not an easy feat given the limited space of the corridor.

Knowing he could not win here, Smith began to retreat into the large office behind him, and with Riddle following without pause, he was granted something akin to breathing room.

"You'll find that escape is impossible."

Edward snorted humourlessly.

He'd never fled from a fight in his entire life, and he would not begin doing so now.

Taking the outburst as mockery, Riddle growled in anger and swept his wand across the breadth of the room.

Smith threw himself to the ground to avoid the exploding desks and rolled away from a hurriedly cast killing curse. Splinters of wood and shreds of parchment rained down upon him.

The biggest shock to him, however, was divesting himself of the debris, only to find a wand pointing between his eyes.

How Riddle had closed the distance between them in such a short time was baffling, but Edward knew this fight was over.

He would not be quick enough with his own wand to defend himself from whatever was coming.

"Fool," Riddle chuckled. "Avada…"

Edward closed his eyes instinctually, and thoughts of his wife waiting at home invaded his mind, followed by a scream of surprise.

Someone gasped in pain, and as Edward dared peek, he too found himself in a state of shock.

Riddle was now in a crumpled heap on the other side of the room, groaning in pain, and another man was stalking towards him.

"Jenkins?" Edward choked in disbelief.

In response, Smith found himself sent to the other side of the room with a flick of the man's wand, and he looked on as Riddle gingerly got to his feet.

He was bleeding profusely from his eyes and nose, and his left arm hung limply at his side. Gasping for breath, he levelled a glare at Jenkins, only to stumble on an evidently injured leg.

Jenkins seized the opportunity by banishing the remains of the dozens of desks towards Tom Riddle, only for them to be intercepted by a blinding burst of white fire.

Ash filled the room and began slowly descending to the floor, but there was no sign of Riddle, and as Edward attempted to stand, a harsh voice halted him.

"No!" Jenkins commanded. "He's still here."

Smith frowned as he readied himself and was taken aback as Jenkins sprang into action once more, tearing half the office apart with a wave of his wand.

Another grunt of pain followed, and Edward caught a final glance of Riddle sporting a glare and a grimace before he vanished.

Jenkins, however, remained vigilant and only relaxed after a moment.

"He's gone," he declared, offering Edward a hand.

"Are you sure?"

Jenkins nodded.

"He will need to remove the curse before it kills him. He doesn't have long, and he knows it."

Edward was flabbergasted at what he'd both experienced and witnessed.

"You were killed!" he protested.

"I made him think I was dead," Jenkins said dismissively.

Smith looked on incredulously as the man surveyed the damage around him.

"Wait, you let him almost kill me!"

"I think you would've been more furious if I didn't let you try," Jenkins returned. "You needed to understand the threat he poses. He's a dangerous man, and not just because he can light fires and kill a family with half a dozen of his followers with him."

Edward couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

He'd known Jenkins for several years now, and he was regularly on the rotation to guard him.

"I don't understand," he grumbled.

Jenkins grinned at him and waved his hand over his face.

Smith's eyes widened as he recognised the man standing before him.

"Jameson?" he scoffed.

The man nodded.

"I thought it was best that Jenkins had the day off," he replied.

"You knew this would happen?"

Jameson shook his head.

"No, but I couldn't ignore the possibility it would," he sighed. "I know Riddle, and he would do whatever it took to ensure you couldn't place Gaunt in front of the Wizengamot."

"Well, I can't now," Smith pointed out.

"I had hoped to prevent him from being killed, but I didn't expect him to have as much help as he did. He entered undetected, and it wasn't until he killed Gaunt that he triggered the alarms. I didn't anticipate that."

Edward could only shake his head.

"It could be worse," he murmured.

"It could be better," Jameson countered. "This is not a success, Smith. It is a failure. I made a mistake, and it cost Gaunt his life. He might have been a git, but he was an innocent one."

"You saved mine," Edward pointed out.

His words brought the man little comfort, and he continued to frown.

"What a damned mess," he huffed as he made his way towards the exit.

"Wait, where are you going?" Edward asked.

"I was never here," Jameson answered, leaving Smith alone with only his thoughts.

He was still shaken by all that had happened and by the disheartened demeanour of Jameson.

The man had undoubtedly saved his life, but that seemed to mean little in the grand scheme of things.

Not to Edward.

He was grateful Jameson had the foresight to take precautions he'd not even considered and acted when he was needed.

Nonetheless, what had happened here was little more than a disaster, and Jameson was right.

There was no success to be had, only more questions that needed answering, many of which would be put to him the moment the rest of the department learned what had transpired in their absence.

(Break)

It had taken the better part of an hour to stop the fighting, which had ended just as quickly as it began. Amelia was one of the fortunate ones who'd not been injured, but Imelda was currently being treated for a broken arm along with Moody, who had received a nasty gash from his bottom lip to chin.

He remained in good spirits, however, even if his countenance darkened as Grimm approached.

"Seven dead so far," he declared morosely, "and fifty-three in custody. It's going to be a long one."

"Auror Grimm!" one of their colleagues panted as he sprinted towards them.

"What is it, Appleby?"

"The office, sir! I just transported the first lot of prisoners, and the place has been destroyed."

"Destroyed?"

Appleby nodded.

"Smith is fine," he assured them, "but something has happened."

Grimm nodded.

"Moody, Bones, Shacklebolt, with me," he instructed before apparating away.

Amelia and the others followed, and her mouth fell agape when she arrived in what had been the main office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

What remained of the floor was covered in ash, and the tiles on the ceiling were cracked or split from one side of the room to the other.

In one corner was a pool of blood, and standing in the very centre was a pale Edward Smith, his wand in hand as he simply took in the destruction around him.

"Smith?" Grimm asked worriedly.

The Head of the Department turned towards them and shook his head.

"Gaunt is dead," he announced. "So is Selwyn."

"Bloody hell, what happened?" Grimm demanded to know.

"Riddle came," Smith answered, "but he wasn't the only one," he added, relieved.

"He wasn't?"

Smith shook his head.

"No, he wasn't," he replied, his gaze flickering towards Amelia.

Jameson.

She didn't need the man to tell her that it was Jameson who'd been here.

She could feel his presence, along with another that was familiar.

Voldemort.

Whatever had happened here, she would learn soon enough, and as Smith offered her a reassuring nod, Amelia breathed a sigh of relief.

Not that this would be the end of it.

The meeting of the Wizengamot due to take place in only a couple of days would be interesting, to say the least.