All for one

by midnightsstar9212

For you

35. Chapter 35

Chapter 34

Harry would not pretend that he wasn't disappointed.

He'd hoped that Tom's ego would have gotten the better of him, or that he'd not been aware of what the curse was that had been placed on him so that he would stay to continue the fight in the Ministry.

It was not to be.

The man knew of the curse and the imminent danger he would be in if he delayed countering it.

Still, Harry did not regret using it.

Had things gone awry, he was confident enough in his ability to hold Voldemort off long enough that even he would be too late to reverse it, but as ever, Tom had fled when he was no longer at an advantage.

Nonetheless, knowing he would still be suffering, even now, from the toll the curse would've taken did bring him a modicum of comfort.

Any suffering endured by the Dark Lord was not a bad thing.

"Good," he praised as he handed Bellatrix back the piece of parchment containing her answer to one of the questions he'd posed to the class. "I will give you some in-depth feedback when it is complete."

The girl nodded before continuing with her work.

She'd been rather subdued since Arcturus Black had visited the school and had distanced herself from her usual company.

Harry hoped she would not go against the wishes of her grandfather.

A world with a deluded Bellatrix Black was not something he wished to experience again.

Voldemort was bad enough without his most dangerous lieutenant in tow.

"Wand away, Yaxley," Harry snapped, catching sight of the boy attempting to slide it into his hand covertly.

What his intentions were, Harry didn't know, but he'd been firm in his instructions that it would not be needed for this lesson.

"I will give you another ten minutes," he announced, taking his place at the front of the classroom where he was best positioned to watch over the students.

If only everything else was as easy as teaching seemed to be in comparison.

It wasn't that being a professor was the easiest of things, but when it came to investigating murders involving prominent members of an international government and combatting a determined and dangerous Dark Lord, teaching at Hogwarts was the least difficult thing Harry had to deal with.

Still, he was grateful he was not involved in the political field.

Harry did not possess the patience to navigate it nor stroke the egos of those who oversaw the British wizarding government, many of whom were as corrupt as the ICW seemingly was.

"What do I tell them, Jameson?"

"The truth."

"They won't like it."

"Better the truth than lies, Smith. Maybe some of them will rethink their support for him."

"Do you think so?" Smith asked hopefully.

Harry snorted as he shook his head.

"Most will conveniently overlook that he isn't a pureblood because he is from the Slytherin line. They are sticklers for tradition, and it doesn't get much more traditional than coming from such a revered family line."

"Great," Smith huffed.

"It might not have been a victory for us, but it wasn't for him either," Harry pointed out. "You're still alive."

Smith nodded.

"Only just," he muttered. "What will happen next?"

"He'll be back," Harry answered. He won't spend long licking his wounds. He needs to regain his credibility."

Smith shook his head.

"When will it end?"

"When he's dead."

"Not in Azkaban?"

Harry chuckled humourlessly.

"Do you really think he'd allow himself to be taken in? He will kill dozens before you can subdue him, and not even Azkaban can hold him. No, it is too risky. You saw for yourself how dangerous he is. Would you want to put anyone in the position of apprehending him?"

"No, but I can't just give carte blanche to eliminate him," Smith returned. "We have laws, Jameson, and no one is above them. If he has as much support on the Wizengamot as you think, it will never be passed either."

Smith was right.

He'd summoned Harry only the previous night to discuss what had happened and what he was to do next.

The man was lost and rather shaken up by the ordeal of facing Tom, and Smith knew he was lucky to be alive at all.

It did not change anything, not with the amount of support Tom had already accumulated and would continue to gain in the coming months, perhaps years.

There were indeed those who would follow the Dark Lord regardless of what was revealed and those who were already too deep to change their minds.

Tom had always been very clear that disloyalty was unacceptable, and the penalty for such was death.

Some things never changed, which was as frustrating for Harry as it was useful when dealing with his old adversary.

"Time is up," he declared. "Pass your parchment to the front of the class before you leave."

The students grumbled unhappily as they did so.

With their NEWTs approaching, they were being pushed harder than ever, and the strain was starting to show.

"Was there something you needed, Miss Black?" he asked, noticing the girl had remained in her seat.

Bellatrix shrugged, and she appeared to be torn on whether or not she wished to speak with him.

"I suppose I'm just a little lost," she replied quietly.

"Lost?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"My grandfather told me that it was you who told him about Vol-Tom Riddle."

Harry chuckled amusedly.

"I have a lot of respect for your grandfather," he offered sincerely.

"But you don't like him."

"I think that feeling is quite mutual," Harry said with a smile. "We are two very different people with different beliefs. That doesn't mean we can't respect each other."

Bellatrix frowned and nodded.

"He told me I'm not to involve myself with Riddle and his followers."

Harry folded his arms as he leaned against his desk.

"Do you want to?"

Bellatrix shrugged.

"I have the same beliefs as them," she admitted. "I don't think mud-muggle-borns should be allowed positions of power or that they should be given preferential treatment."

"But that doesn't mean they should be harmed," Harry pointed out. "How many muggleborns or even half-bloods have attempted to harm you?"

"None."

"Exactly," Harry sighed. "Listen, I agree with you in some ways."

"You do?"

Harry nodded.

"I've seen it for myself. A friend of mine was a muggleborn, and she tried to change traditions that she didn't understand in the wizarding world. She was poorly informed and tried to exert her beliefs without knowledge of the tradition and its benefits. I don't think they should be entirely excluded from positions of power, but they certainly should be properly educated in magical customs."

Hermione had not conducted herself well with her efforts to free house elves from what she believed to be one-sided bonds of servitude.

Bellatrix didn't seem convinced.

"How many muggleborns and half-bloods are on the Wizengamot?" Harry asked.

"Very few."

"Exactly, and there is not a single pureblood, no matter what side of the political spectrum they choose to follow, that will allow that to change, and I think you'll find that so very few muggleborns would want that either. Most of them just want to share the magical world and enjoy the gift they have. They are not seeking to buck tradition or change it. The problem is, as a pureblood, you are taught from a young age to be ambitious and, in your case, cunning and savvy. Most muggleborns are not conditioned that way. They are taught to get an education, find a job, and have a family. Their ambitions are not the same as yours, for the most part."

They're not."

"No, and even if they were, it is highly unlikely they would be given a seat on the Wizengamot, and that is made very clear to them by their peers when they come here. Because of how many muggleborns there are now, the purebloods had developed a paranoia that they will attempt a coup."

"Won't they when they release it?"

"They already know," Harry chuckled. Only an idiot can't see it. You just have to look around the school to see it, and Riddle is using this paranoia to fuel the hatred toward them. It is scaremongering, and people are buying into it."

"I didn't ever think of it like that."

"Because you've not spent much time with muggleborns or muggles," Harry replied. "There's nothing wrong with that, and there's nothing wrong with your beliefs, so long as you don't harm others because of them. How would you feel if I wanted to hurt you because you're a pureblood?"

Bellatrix frowned at him.

"See, it doesn't make any sense, does it?" Harry pressed.

"No," Bellatrix huffed. "I don't know, maybe I was buying into it," she admitted.

"You're young and impressionable, but you don't have to go down that path, Bellatrix. Riddle won't succeed in his plans, and what do you think is going to happen to those who choose to follow him in what he is doing? He has killed several people already."

"Not you," Bellatrix pointed out.

"Not me," Harry acknowledged. "I understand people like him and have spent my life fighting against them. I am always prepared to confront these things."

"Don't you hate the purebloods for what they did?"

Harry shook his head.

"The ones that attacked me are dead, well, most of them," he explained, "and it is not all purebloods who want me dead, just some of them who have bought into Riddle and his agenda. I'm dating a pureblood, and I'd like to think she doesn't want me dead."

Bellatrix cracked a smile for the first time since the conversation started.

"So, even if there was a muggleborn or half-blood who did want to seize power, that doesn't mean all of them do," she said thoughtfully.

"Exactly," Harry confirmed. "Just like not all purebloods agree with Riddle."

Bellatrix nodded as she stood.

"Thank you, Professor," she said sincerely. "I think I've just been confused about everything. I didn't understand why my grandfather wouldn't support him, but I think I do now."

With that, she left, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

It had not been an easy conversation, and he'd chosen his words carefully.

Whatever Bellatrix chose to do was her choice, regardless of what Arcturus Black had commanded.

He remembered the woman she'd grown to be: erratic, unstable, and frighteningly loyal to Tom until the very end.

Now, it could be different for here, though Harry wasn't sure he'd believe it until Riddle was gone, not with how fanatical she'd once become.

(Break)

He was no stranger to being in the Wizengamot, but even as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it wasn't often that Edward found himself addressing the room unless he was called upon to do so.

Today was such an occasion, and although he wasn't nervous, he knew he would have to approach what he wished to discuss with caution.

"Mr Smith, it was you who requested this meeting," Dumbledore announced. "Please, state your purpose for bringing us all together today."

Smith offered the man a respectful nod.

"Voldemort," he answered.

Murmuring broke out across the room, some from discomfort, and others from irritation that he had the gall to do so.

"Voldemort?"

"The man responsible for the attack on Hogsmeade, for the murder of the Osborne family, the attack on the restaurant belonging to Harry Jameson, and most recently, the murders of Morfin Gaunt and Artemis Selwyn. Oh, and the attempted murder of me."

The last three admission were news to most within the room.

What had happened only a couple of days prior had been kept under wraps for the most part. The destruction of the department had been made known to the public, but the other details had not.

Edward, under the advisement of both the Minister and Grimm, had omitted those particular incidents.

"And what is it you wish to discuss, Mr Smith?" Leach questioned. "Several things, but my main objective was to obtain a pardon for Morfin Gaunt for the crimes he was imprisoned for. Please, refer to the evidence being provided to all of you. Morfin Gaunt was arrested and convicted for three counts of murder. Having interviewed him recently pertaining to something seemingly unrelated, I discovered the truth of what happened to the Riddle family. They were murdered by one Tom Riddle, muggle, and son of Tom Riddle Jr, deceased, and Merope Gaunt, also deceased."

"And this concerns Voldemort how?" Lord Boot questioned as some of the cleverer amongst them put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Because Tom Riddle and Voldemort are one and the same," Smith announced.

The chatter amongst the Lords and Ladies grew and didn't stop until Dumbledore tapped the top of his podium smartly with his gavel and offered Edward an appraising stare.

"You're saying that the Dark Lord who is professing to be the heir of Slytherin and champion of pureblood rights is, in fact, a half-blood?"

"I am," Edward confirmed.

He did not miss the looks of discomfort some of the Lords and Ladies shared with one another, particularly those sitting in the more traditionalist block, some of whom did not seem surprised by the revelation.

"Liar!" Lord Lestrange accused.

He received nods and murmurs of agreement, and much to Smith's surprise, it was Arcturus Black who defended him.

"Smith speaks the truth," he declared. "He is a man of integrity, let us not forget that he has served in his capacity for longer than some of you have been here. I have verified it for myself. This, Voldemort, is Tom Riddle."

Edward offered the man a nod of appreciation.

Very few would dare label the man a liar as they had Smith, and his peers did not buck that tradition.

They chose to sit in an awkward silence, which Lord Boot broke.

"You say that he is wanted for the crimes we already knew of but mentioned the attempted murder of you," he reminded the room at large.

"I did," Smith confirmed. "For this, I have a memory I wish for you all to view. It is not my proudest moment, but you should all be aware of the threat hanging over us. Chief Warlock, with your permission?"

Dumbledore appeared as curious as he was uncomfortable, but he nodded nonetheless, and Edward handed the memory to the clerk, who placed it into a large stone basin he raised from the floor.

"Is this really necessary?" Lord Nott questioned.

"I believe it is," Edward replied firmly.

With no further protests, the memory began playing out in front of them, and Smith stood as proudly as he could as he relived his near demise at the hands of the man who'd made an attempt on his life.

Riddle had almost succeeded, and were it not for Jameson's foresight, he would have.

Smith had always prided himself on his capability with a wand in his hand, and it was shameful to admit that he had been bested so easily, but he could not deny that he had.

Riddle was an excellent wizard, which only made him more dangerous.

As the memory finished, the gathered members of the Wizengamot spoke amongst themselves, many in disbelief at what they had witnessed and others displeased by the point Edward had chosen to end the memory.

"How did you survive?" Minister Leach questioned, speaking the words on many lips.

"Someone came to my assistance," Smith answered. "Were it not for them, as you saw for yourselves, he would've murdered me."

He was relieved to see that most within the room were aghast at what had happened to him.

"Then these new charges will be added," Leach declared. "To the members of the media, you have my full permission to print what you have heard and seen. Mr Smith, I want this Tom Riddle found and brought into custody. I will leave that in your capable hands. Now, I understand there was something else you wished to discuss."

"There is, Minister," Edward confirmed. "It pertains to what happened at the Montrose Magpies' stadium."

"Then proceed," Leach urged.

"Thirteen people lost their lives, and several Aurors were injured," Edward announced. "I am working under the assumption that the two incidents discussed today are, in fact, connected. As such, until further notice, the Quidditch league is going to be suspended, pending my investigation."

With so many fans of the sport in the chambers, the statement was not received well, and Edward waited whilst the protests were made before Leach crashed his gavel against his podium for silence.

"Is that necessary, Smith?" the Minister asked.

"I believe so, and I have already discussed it with the Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games. He agrees that all steps must be taken to ensure such an incident is not repeated."

"When will Quidditch resume?" Lord Yaxley asked.

"When the threat of Tom Riddle has been removed," Smith answered firmly. "It is my job to protect the citizens of magical Britain, and given what happened, I feel that is beyond my capabilities without significant risk to the public and to the Aurors under my charge."

It was not a popular decision, but Edward knew it was the right one to make.

He simply could not justify allowing the remainder of the season to go ahead after such an unprecedented disaster, and he refused to have any more deaths on his hands, not when it was so easily preventable.

"Then I will support your decision, Mr Smith," Leach assured him. "If there is nothing else, you may take your usual place."

With a bow towards the man, Edward did so and ignored the glares shot his way.

With all that had happened in the space of a few hours and the consequences that followed, he knew he had to act decisively, and that was what he'd done.

He would sooner be remembered as the man who made the difficult decision to suspend the Quidditch season than the one who failed to do so at the expense of others.

No, Edward could not leave that legacy behind.

(Break)

She all but sprinted from the entrance hall into the kitchen when she arrived back at Jameson's home to find him reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee as though nothing had happened.

Smith had not told any of who had helped him, but Amelia didn't need to, and as she laid eyes on Harry, she breathed a sigh of relief before throwing her arms around him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Don't," Amelia murmured.

"Don't what?"

"You know what."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Jameson!" Amelia growled.

He chuckled in response and shook his head.

"I'm fine," he assured her.

Nonetheless, Amelia gave him the once-over to make sure for herself before relaxing.

"You knew it was going to happen?"

"No," Jameson denied. "I knew it was possible, and it was a risk I couldn't ignore."

Amelia nodded her understanding.

"You know, I always thought that if I met someone, they'd be the ones to worry about me."

"I tend to worry about the general public when you're on duty," Jameson chuckled.

"So, you don't worry about me?"

"I do," Harry answered honestly, "but I know you are doing what you are passionate about and that you can handle yourself."

"Just like you?"

"I wouldn't say it is my passion," Harry denied. "I just seem to be good at it and unable to escape from it. It's more of a curse."

"What is your passion?" Amelia asked curiously.

"I don't think I've ever been given the chance to figure that out," Harry murmured.

It saddened her to realise that was how he thought.

For all of his talent and brilliance, she'd seldom heard him speak so sincerely than when he admitted being denied the opportunity to pursue something he truly cared for.

It was one of those deeper layers of Jameson he kept hidden from the rest of the world, along with much more that Amelia had yet to learn about the man.

He was guarded, even more so than her, and she hated to think of him living an unfulfilled life.

"How is it going in there?" she asked Alastor as he entered her office.

"Well, he did it," Moody said tiredly. "He told the Wizengamot about what happened and has even suspended the rest of the Quidditch season. He's taking it seriously."

"Are you surprised after what happened?"

Moody shook his head.

"I saw the memory, Bones. If it weren't for whoever intervened, he'd be dead. This Voldemort is the real deal if he can get the better of Smith like that."

Amelia nodded her agreement.

She'd witnessed it for herself when he'd attacked the restaurant and was in no hurry to do so again.

Jameson, though, had been unfazed, almost as though what he'd seen was exactly what he'd expected.

"So, no Quidditch? I bet that was a popular decision."

"You can imagine how that was received," Alastor snorted. "Anyway, shift is up. I'm going home. It's been a long few days."

Amelia nodded her agreement as he left, and when her own paperwork was complete, she followed suit, arriving at Jameson's home only a few moments later to find him once more in the kitchen.

He looked tired, but he offered her a smile as she entered the room.

"Long day?" she asked.

"Long day," he agreed, looking towards the clock as he stretched his legs under the table. "How was yours?"

Amelia shrugged as she kicked off her shoes and climbed into his lap.

"Smith did what he needed to. He even suspended the rest of the Quidditch season."

Harry nodded.

"It's the right thing to do," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around her and yawned.

"You work too hard."

"It's a busy time of year," Harry pointed out. "OWLs and NEWTs."

"And whatever else you are working on in the basement."

"That too," he agreed, "but I can't neglect any of it, not yet."

Amelia hummed.

"What about me?"

"You?"

"You're not going to neglect me, are you?"

"You wouldn't let me do that," Harry chuckled. "You know, I never thought you'd be so needy."

"I quite like having your attention," Amelia replied defiantly. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"No," Harry denied. "It's the one thing I have that makes all the other stuff worth it."

It was only a few simple words, and Amelia wouldn't consider herself an overtly emotional person, but the sincerity behind them brought a lump to her throat.

"You know, behind all the mischief and troublemaking, you have the kindest heart."

"Troublemaking? I don't make trouble; it just has a way of finding me, just like you did."

"Are you saying I'm trouble?"

"You have your moments."

Amelia did not dignify him with a response.

Instead, she chose to enjoy the moment of just being so close to him, something that had not been easy for either of them.

She still hoped he would open up to her and unburden himself of whatever it was that was undeniably troubling him.

More often than not, when she came here, Jameson was in the basement working on something he would not discuss with her, and it was slowly eating away at him.

He hid it well, but Amelia knew better than anyone else when someone was overworking themselves. She was often guilty of it, just as Harry was.

Whatever it was, it could only be of the utmost importance for him to invest so much of his little free time into it.

Still, Amelia did not like seeing him so drained from everything, and she did her best to give him a reprieve from it all when she could.

"Come on," she sighed as she stood.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"Does it matter?"

Harry shook his head as he followed, and Amelia led him into the grounds around the home.

"When was the last time you spent some time out here?"

"It's been weeks," he admitted with a sigh as he looked towards the herd of Hippogriffs and then towards the Thestrals meandering amongst the trees. "Too long."

Amelia took him by the hand and led him across the fields towards the latter, where they were greeted by the waiting Bart.

"Master Harry!" the elf greeted him, surprised by their arrival. "Miss Amelia!"

"Hello, Bart. How are they doing?"

"Very well, Master Harry. The herd is very happy here."

They were.

Although Harry had not spent as much time with the creatures as Amelia knew he would like, she had, and the herd was thriving.

She watched as he began interacting with them, and the more he did so, the more he relaxed. He even smiled brightly when the foals surrounded him as he began feeding them.

It was heart-warming to see, and Amelia hoped he would take just a few moments a day to enjoy this or something else that brought him equal peace without his mind occupied entirely by whatever he was working on.

"Have you ever ridden a Thestral?" Harry asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

Amelia shook her head, and he grinned mischievously.

Usually, she would become cautious when he did so, but to see him so carefree was enough that she wasn't fazed by what he planned.

She allowed him to lead her towards one of the larger males and lift her onto his back.

"Are you sure about this?" Amelia asked.

"No," Jameson snorted as he climbed in front of her. "You'd better hold on."

Amelia quickly found herself clinging around his waist as the Thestral began galloping across the field.

She was not ashamed to admit that she screamed as it beat its enormous wings and carried them off into the night sky.

It proved to be as frightening as it was exhilarating, and Harry simply laughed as they flew circles around the house, urging the Thestral to go faster.

"You're insane," Amelia called, her grip tightening, though she could ignore just how amazing it was to be atop such a majestic creature.

"I have to be," Harry replied. "I ended up with you."

"Ended up with?" Amelia questioned. "I think you'll find I ended up with you, Jameson."

He turned towards her and simply smiled in response.

"Is that such a bad thing?" he asked.

"No," Amelia murmured as she pulled herself closer towards him. "I suppose it's not such a bad thing."

(Break)

He winced in discomfort as he shifted in his chair. Since the incident at the Ministry, it was the first day he'd managed to get out of bed, let alone dress himself, and walk the short distance to the bathroom of the room he'd rented.

Jameson.

The Dark Lord was in no doubt that it was the man he'd clashed without outside the restaurant that had attacked him so cowardly, disguised as a Ministry worker.

That meant he either posed as such regularly or that he expected the attack on Smith, and Jameson was not the kind of man to waste time on chance.

No, somehow, he had anticipated what was coming, just as he had when Voldemort and the Death Eaters had converged on the restaurant.

How?

How had the man known where to be and when?

Was he a seer?

The Dark Lord had so many questions he wanted answers to, yet, for the time being, none of them were pertinent, not while he was recovering.

The curse used against him raised further questions he needed to ponder.

It was an obscure one, little-known, and one he himself had not come across until rather recently.

The very second it hit him, he knew what it was, and although he briefly was in a state of disbelief, he knew he needed to rid himself of it quickly.

Not only did it damage the initial area it impacted, but the effects rapidly spread to the vital organs, constricting them painfully and shutting them down beyond repair.

It had been closer than he liked to admit, but he'd managed to remove the curse upon his departure and had been ingesting a cocktail of potions between bouts of restless sleep.

"My Lord, are you in there?" Rosier called as he knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in," Voldemort instructed, masking his discomfort.

The door opened and admitted the man, along with Yaxley, Avery, and Lestrange.

All three of them looked upon him with concern, but with little more than a glare, they stopped doing so.

"Well?" the Dark Lord snapped.

"He did it," Yaxley answered. "Smith exposed you, and Morfin Gaunt was granted his pardon."

Voldemort nodded.

He expected the outcome, but that did not prevent his anger from spiking.

"What do we do now, my lord?" Avery asked.

"We proceed," Voldemort answered. "They will still come to me."

"They will," Rosier agreed. "You are Slytherin's heir, and none can deny your power. Those of us who see the truth are with you, my lord."

Voldemort nodded appreciatively.

"Lestrange?"

"Of course, I am with you, my lord."

Voldemort shifted his gaze to Yaxley and the man nodded, though it was with reluctance.

"Corvus?" he pressed.

"I'm with you, my lord, but what do we do?" he asked. "We cannot deny the damage that has been done."

Voldemort's nostrils flared irritably.

"You doubt me."

"No!" Yaxley denied, holding up his hands. "I do not doubt you, but…"

"Crucio!"

Despite the pain still coursing throughout his body, it was nothing compared to what erring Yaxley was now experiencing as he convulsed on the ground, screaming as though he'd been set ablaze.

After a moment, the Dark Lord relented, and he leaned back in his chair.

"I will not tolerate disloyalty," he murmured. "Not from anyone."

Avery, Lestrange, and Rosier nodded, shocked by what had occurred, but Voldemort detected nothing amiss from either of the men.

"We proceed," he reiterated. "For now, we cause chaos for the Ministry and demonstrate that it is not fit for purpose. We will remind them that one setback is not a defeat. Despite what happened, I breached the building, killed a prisoner, and was close to eliminating one of the most decorated Aurors in recent history. Do not let anyone forget that."

"We will remind them," Avery assured him. "Will you be re-joining us?"

"Soon," Voldemort answered. I have some things to attend to. We need more recruits, Avery—competent ones."

"I will do my best, my lord."

Voldemort nodded and dismissed the men with a wave of his hand.

When they were gone, he climbed back into bed to rest a little more whilst mulling over the many plans he'd been concocting since he'd discovered his heritage.

This was only the beginning, and though he had hit a snag or two already, he would not be deterred.

When Jameson and Dumbledore were dead, there would be no other to prevent his success.

The Ministry had already proven to be weak and would collapse in time.

Before that eventuality, however, Jameson would be slaughtered for the world to see.

He'd managed to outwit the Dark Lord, but that would not happen again.

(Break)

Locating someone who did not wish to be found was no easy feat, but when the man in question had been at the very top of his country's government and had even ascended to the heights of being a representative of the ICW, it made the task that much harder.

Marcin Broz, or Piotr Hermanson, or even one of the many other pseudonyms the man had adopted since being ousted from office was as elusive as any Harry had attempted to track down.

Even now, he wasn't entirely sure he'd found the man, especially given that the address he'd uncovered in St Adalbert's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in Krakow had led him to what appeared to be a hospice in the eastern Polish countryside.

It was a pleasant enough building, miles from anywhere else and well-hidden, so much so that it had taken Harry the better part of the afternoon to find the place.

He'd only managed to do so when he'd sensed a minor magical disturbance whilst he was seeking the compound it was located on, and it had presented itself to him through a thicket of trees.

Donning his cloak, he approached and made his way inside to be taken aback by what he found.

Gentle, calming music sounded throughout the entranceway and the corridors where the single-occupant rooms could be found.

In what appeared to be a large lounge, a few dozen elderly people were gathered, chatting amongst themselves, swapping stories of their youths and evidently enjoying the twilight years of their lives.

It was a peaceful place, with around one orderly for every three residents, but Harry did not see any familiar faces.

Helpfully, a photo of Broz was included in his medical file, and judging from what he'd read about the man, he was not long for the world.

Shaking his head, he made his way down the long corridor to the rooms, pausing as an orderly stepped out of one, almost knocking into him.

"I will come back in a couple of hours, Mr Broz," the woman said kindly. "Take your medicine."

She closed the door, and Harry pressed himself against the wall to avoid her brushing against him. When she was gone, he drew his wand.

Casting several charms to ensure he would not be disturbed and understood by Broz, he entered the room the orderly had left to find an old man sitting in an armchair reading the newspaper.

Divesting himself of the cloak, Broz's eyes widened as he looked towards him before he chuckled.

"For a moment I thought…"

He paused as he carefully took in Harry's appearance.

"No, it cannot be you."

"Who do you believe I am, Mr Broz."

The man frowned at his accent.

"A ghost of my past," he answered. "I have many, but they will not haunt me for much longer. Well, you went to all the trouble to find me. What is it you want, young man?"

"You do not seem surprised."

Broz snorted as he shook his head and folded up the newspaper he was reading.

"Little surprises me these days," he sighed. "It is one of the few joys of growing old. The rest of it is lonely whilst you wait for death or gentlemen such as yourself. I do not suppose you will introduce yourself."

"No."

"Then you are smart," Broz praised. "Why bother with formalities when they will not matter soon enough. Come, tell me what brings you here today."

"I am investigating the death of the former Lord and Lady Bones of Britain. They were found murdered in your country during your tenure as Minister of Magic."

Broz frowned for a moment before shaking his head.

"Then you are not so smart," he said disappointedly. "You should've let it be, but it is too late now. You have delved too deeply."

"How so?"

Broz leaned forward, a grin tugging at his lips.

"You are here," he whispered, "and they will already know it."

"Who knows?"

The man looked distinctly uncomfortable and reached for a glass of water on the side table with a trembling hand. He took a sip and shook his head.

"I cannot speak of it, or anything else you will want to know. I took a magically binding oath many years ago not to."

"You can't tell me anything?"

"No, and you cannot even enter my mind to search for the information yourself. It would be perilous to us both if you attempted it.

Harry searched his features for any sign of deception but found none.

Broz was telling the truth.

"Do not despair," the old man chuckled. "You need not search much more because they will come for you soon enough. Just like me, you are already dead, you just don't know it yet."

"Who is coming for me?"

Once more, as he opened his mouth to speak, Broz became uncomfortable, wincing this time before he shook his head.

"I cannot say, but I can point you in the right direction, I think."

He reached for a quill and a piece of parchment and etched something before folding it and handing it to Harry.

Opening it, Harry was surprised by what Broz had drawn, and he looked at the man speculatively.

"The Deathly Hallows?"

Broz chuckled.

"You know of them. Good, then you will know where to truly begin your search," he said almost proudly. "But it is not the Hallows you seek, young man, but a seeker of them, perhaps the most notorious of all. I would not dither, not with them as your enemies. I can assure you, they will not. You have opened what I believe the muggles call Pandora's Box. Not even the man I believed you to be could close it."

He tapped the piece of parchment Harry held firmly and nodded encouragingly.

"Who did you think I was?"

"The one they call the Serpent," Broz answered ominously. "Ah, another familiar to you," he added. "You are piecing the puzzle together, but it will do you no good. You will be dead soon enough, and I expect I will join you."

"Then why are you helping me?"

"Helping you? No, my boy, I am merely warning you. There is no help with what you are facing."

Harry frowned as he stood and offered Broz a final look of curiosity before making his way to the door, pausing as the man spoke once more.

"If you were smart, you would hide for as long as you can. Perhaps you may survive a year or so, but they will eventually come for you, but you have already proven you are not smart. I will meet my maker knowing I did one good thing before I was taken. How will you meet yours?"

"I am an old man with blood on my hands, but one who has lived a full life," Harry answered, hissing gently and releasing a large snake from within his sleeve.

Broz recoiled, his eyes wide with fear, and Harry left, pleased with the reaction to his gesture.

There was only one place on his mind that he needed to visit next, and though he'd never anticipated visiting Nurmengard, there was a Dark Lord he needed to speak with.