Chapter 37
Although it had been months since Cygnus had been resting in St Mungo's after his foolish decision to assist Riddle in a cowardly attack on Harry Jameson, Arcturus still felt himself filled with utter disappointment as he looked upon his son.
There had been no honour or respect in what the group had tried to do, and yet, his own flesh and blood had played his part anyway.
Arcturus had always told Melania she had been too easy on the boys, and it was partly his own fault too.
Having fought and lived through a war, he'd not wanted his children to experience it, and as such, both Orion and Cygnus had been coddled, spoiled, and never taken responsibility for any wrongdoing.
That had changed that night in Knockturn Alley.
Cygnus had almost paid the ultimate price for acting like a damned sheep and associating himself with the likes of Tom Riddle.
"You wished to see me, Father?"
Arcturus fought the urge to grimace as his son took a seat and chose to take a moment to compose himself by sealing a letter he'd just finished writing instead.
"I asked you here to discuss an excellent opportunity that Bellatrix has been offered," he revealed.
Cygnus scowled in response.
"Opportunity?"
Arcturus nodded.
"She has been offered an apprenticeship to obtain a mastery in Defence Against the Dark Arts. That means she will be staying on at Hogwarts for a further three years, minimum."
Cygnus was taken aback by the revelation and shook his head.
"She will not!" he declared. "I am in the process of arranging a marriage between her and Rodolphus, the heir to the Lestrange family. Corvus will not tolerate his son's wife…"
"Corvus Lestrange can kiss my arse," Arcturus cut in. "I have given my blessing for Bellatrix to accept the offer, and she will need to focus on her work. The terms are most agreeable, and it will be of great benefit to her."
"You do not get to decide what happens with my daughter!" Cygnus growled.
Arcturus quirked an eyebrow at his son.
"I am the head of this family," he reminded Cygnus, "and my decision is final. You have already proven you do not have our best interests at heart, and I will not see Bellatrix married into a family that supports the jumped-up half-blood. This is not up for debate, Cygnus. Bellatrix will remain at Hogwarts, and you will continue to consider yourself lucky that you still breathe."
Cygnus sunk back in his chair, cowed by the venom in his father's voice.
"Not Jameson," he muttered. "She's not working for Jameson, is she?"
Arcturus nodded.
"You may not like him, boy, but Harry Jameson has proven himself a worthy wizard. You saw what he did to you and your idiot friends in Knockturn Alley, and every report I have received on him paints a picture of a competent man. Bellatrix is thriving under his tutelage and will continue to do so for the next three years. You do not have to like it, but that is my decision."
Cygnus appeared as though he was wracking his brains for an argument he could make, but seeing it would be futile, he shook his head as he stood.
"Very well," he conceded unhappily, "but it is not I who dishonoured hour family with my actions. You have sided with the man who almost killed me."
"I side with my family!" Arcturus snapped as he stood, his gaze boring into Cygnus's. "It just so happens that Jameson can better the prospects for my granddaughter, and I think more of her than to see her married off to a Lestrange. That family will soon be in ruin if they continue to support Riddle, and many others with them. Now, get out!"
Cygnus snorted derisively as he did so, and Arcturus poured himself a measure of whiskey to cool his temper.
He'd not expected his son to take the news well, but he'd not anticipated such petulance from him either.
Still, it was done now.
Arcturus had secured Bellatrix's future for at least the next few years, and by then, he hoped magical Britain would be in a much more stable position.
(Break)
Albus vividly remembered the very first time he'd stepped into the chambers of the International Confederation of Warlocks. He'd been overwhelmed with nervousness and keen to make a difference on the world stage, but over the years, he'd been rather disappointed by the reality of his position.
The ICW proved to not be unlike the Wizengamot.
Each member was self-serving and uncaring towards any that did not share the same views, and the representatives were just as divided into factions.
It often meant that legislation designed to help all was dismissed out of hand, ignored outright, or vetoed if it did not coincide with the interests of certain countries.
According to his colleagues, when Gellert had been the scourge of Europe, there had been better cooperation, but when he'd been safely locked away in Nurmengard, that camaraderie had gone, too.
Ever since he'd joined the ranks, it had only gotten worse, the divide in interests wider and the effectiveness of the body lesser.
Together, they could achieve great things, but few were unable to see beyond their own selfishness to do so.
Still, Albus kept faith that it may change and that the ICW as a whole would see sense in assisting Great Britain with the considerable problem plaguing it now.
Crashing his gavel atop his podium, he cleared his throat as the room fell silent.
"I call to order this meeting of the International Confederation of Warlocks on June 11, 1966," he declared. "Before I raise the topic I intend to, is there any business anyone wishes to raise."
Some of the gathered men and women muttered amongst themselves, but none raised their wands to do so.
"Then I would ask for the attention of the room," Albus requested. "You may or may not be aware of recent developments occurring in Britain, troubling occurrences that only grow in concern. Firstly, there was the arson of Hogsmeade, which left several dead, and then the murder of the Osborne family in Diagon Alley. The next incident was a similar attempt made on another business, though this proved to be unsuccessful, resulting in the deaths of thirteen attackers. Of course, the British Ministry of Magic has been dealing with these incidences as they happen, but most recently, another has occurred."
Albus's gaze swept across the length and breadth of the room as he scrutinised the reactions of colleagues.
"The Statute of Secrecy was breached in a violent and most terrible way in London, where the group responsible for the aforementioned incidents openly attacked muggles," he explained. "The damage to the muggle world was significant, and many lives were lost. For the British Ministry to remedy this, it took considerable effort, resources, and liaising with the muggle Prime Minister. The efforts have been somewhat successful, but the threat of repeat occurrences is imminent."
"I do not see how this is the problem of the ICW," Laurent, the French representative, spoke up. "This seems to be a domestic incident. Are you telling us, Dumbledore, that the British Ministry of Magic is incapable of handling its own domestic affairs?"
Albus frowned at the man.
He didn't like Laurent or the satisfied smirk the man wore when talking down to him as though he were a child.
"I am pointing out that these incidents are becoming more concerning, to the point that it could soon very well irreparably threaten the Statue of Secrecy. Tom Riddle has gained a large following, and it continues to grow. If these men and women defeat Britain, he will shift his attention towards your countries next."
Albus took no pleasure in seeing the concern expressions of many of his colleagues, but he was relieved they seemed to understand the magnitude of what they faced.
"I still say that it is a problem of Great Britain," Laurent interjected once more. "This Riddle has not operated in any of our countries and has kept his attacks aimed only at you. If you cannot fix the problem, then perhaps Britain is not as powerful as the rest of us has been led to believe these past decades."
"I agree with my French counterpart," Gomez, the Spanish representative, broke in.
"As do I," Bank, the Polish representative, added.
Another half dozen echoed the sentiment, and Albus shook his head.
"Grindelwald's campaign started in a similar way," he reminded them. "France fell, as did Poland, Bulgaria, the Netherlands, and many others. It was the men of Britain that came to fight for you, who bled and died so that you may be free once more. He wasn't on our shores when we answered the call for help, and without us, you might not be free now."
"You came from fear, Dumbledore!" Laurent snapped. "Your ministry knew it was only a matter of time before Grindelwald came for you, and you chose to wage war on our lands. Speaking of which, it took you five years to decide to confront him, so you are in no position to lecture us on our moral responsibility! Riddle is your problem, and you will face it alone. I exercise my right to veto the request for assistance from the ICW."
"As do I," Bank supported.
The vetoes came from the very same men who had voiced their objections, and Albus knew his appeal would go no further.
Britain would indeed be alone whilst facing the threat of Voldemort, and it was inevitable that many more would lose their lives before it would be resolved.
It was a bitter pill to swallow, and though he'd expected better from those Britain had sacrificed thousands for, it reminded him of the calibre of men who occupied the seats of the ICW.
They were disinterested in anything that was not on their doorstep and lived to pursue only their own selfish needs and desires.
It had indeed always been this way, but Albus could not help but feel suspicious of those who had opted to veto.
Each of them were countries who had fallen to Gellert, save for the Americans, and if anything, he would've expected these men to be more sympathetic towards Britain.
That wasn't so, and it was not something that the Supreme Mugwump would forget.
(Break)
It wasn't as though Harry hadn't heard of the man he was due to meet, but he was certainly surprised to see his name on the list. Perhaps if he'd been able to pay more attention during his History of Magic classes, it wouldn't have come as quite a shock, but even now, Harry could not stand Cuthbert Binns's droning tone.
Although the name of the man he was meeting was familiar, he didn't recognise him as he entered and took a seat on the opposite side of the table in the muggle café.
"Mr Jameson, I'm Newt Scamander," he introduced himself, offering his hand.
Harry accepted the proffered limb and nodded appreciatively.
"Thank you for coming, Mr Scamander."
"I almost didn't," the man admitted, "but when I saw that you work for Albus, I thought it best to. How is the headmaster?"
"No worse than usual," Harry answered. "With it being exam season, he's busy."
Scamander nodded his understanding.
"What is it you wish to discuss with me?" he asked curiously.
Harry's gaze swept around the room to ensure no one was paying undue attention to them before he leaned forward so as not to be overheard.
"I understand that during the twenties, you spent considerable time in America when Grindelwald was garnering support there."
Scamander frowned as he nodded.
"I did, but I do not believe it is wise to discuss it," he murmured. "I left the chapter of my life in the past, and that is where I prefer to keep it."
"I understand," Harry said sympathetically, "but it isn't strictly Grindelwald I wish to discuss. My interest is in certain macusa agents. I know that Acolyte Abernathy openly joined Grindelwald when he helped him escape and that he was killed during the war, but what of his brother, Amycus?"
Scamander frowned deeply at the question.
"You are asking about the Vice President," he pointed out. "Listen, Mr. Jameson, Acolyte was not like his brother. Amycus was the Deputy Director of Magical Security, and he resigned after what his brother did."
"And now he is the Vice President," Harry sighed. "His name has come up several times in an investigation I am conducting, and it is more than a mere coincidence."
"An investigation?"
Harry nodded and slid his Hit-Wizard licence towards the man.
Scamander nodded and looked at Harry carefully, his eyes widening in recognition, though he appeared to be confused.
"Wait, I know you," he whispered. "I don't know how or where from, but I know you."
"You do?"
Scamander nodded.
"An egg! I gave you an egg, I think. It's all so blurry."
The Serpent.
Scamander must have met the Serpent in the years between what happened in America and the war in Europe.
In what capacity, Harry didn't know, but once more, he couldn't bring himself to believe that it was a mere coincidence.
"Godric's Hollow," Scamander whispered. "I remember visiting, but nothing that happened. What is happening, Mr Jameson?"
"I don't know, but I am trying to get to the bottom of many things," Harry assured the man. "I need your help, Mr Scamander. Any information you can give about Abernathy will bring me a step closer to unravelling and putting a stop to something worse than Grindelwald was."
"Worse than Grindelwald?"
Harry nodded darkly.
"It pertains to corruption in the ICW, murder, extortion, and undoubtedly many other crimes I have yet to identify. The people I am investigating had decided to side with Grindelwald and were going to defect until Albus stepped in and defeated him. These people have maintained their alliance away from the Dark Lord."
Scamander was taken aback and seemingly deeply concerned by the revelation.
"Alright," he murmured. I don't know how much it will help you, but my wife, Tina, used to be an Auror for Macusa. She worked directly under Abernathy, who was very close to Percival Graves, even more so when it was discovered it was Grindelwald posing as him."
Harry nodded and gestured for Scamander to continue.
"Tina commented on his choice to resign when he did so, saying that Abernathy had to have noticed the difference in Graves. He was an excellent Auror himself and one of the most perceptive people she's met. She mentioned that he was acting Director when his brother had aided Grindelwald in escaping and that none were permitted to visit him without Amycus's permission. She was convinced he'd given his brother permission and that he resigned to avoid anyone looking too closely at him. He stayed out of office for a year but returned to his former post as Deputy Director."
"Without an investigation?"
"Without an investigation," Scamander confirmed. "I'm afraid that's all I know, but if there is anyone to be suspicious of, Amycus Abernathy would be where I would start."
Harry was in agreement. Though he'd already chosen to look into the man's past more deeply, Scamander had all but confirmed his own thoughts on the matter and provided interesting insight.
"It was a snake," the man declared suddenly. "A very rare snake. He asked me to help him with it."
"The man you believe is me?"
Scamander nodded.
"A Shadow Serpent," he said thoughtfully. "They are very rare and very dangerous, but he could speak to it. He was a parselmouth."
"Do you know what happened to him?"
Newt shook his head.
"No, I cannot say that I do."
Once more, Harry was disappointed that he couldn't learn anything new about the Serpent, but he could not ignore that just about everything he found himself investigating the elusive man was undoubtedly a part of.
It was concerning, to say the least, and he could not imagine any circumstances that would see him cooperating with the kind of people who would orchestrate what little he had already discovered.
No, there was much more to this, and Harry felt that he had only begun to scratch the surface.
Still, the more he learned, the clearer the picture became, and soon enough, all would be revealed, for better or for worse.
"Thank you, Mr Scamander. Would you like me to keep you informed of anything pertaining to your lapse in memory?"
The man shook his head.
"I think it is better for me that I don't know," he replied as he stood. "Like I said, I prefer to leave the past where it is. I have a family to think of now, and my wife no longer works for Macusa. I don't expect I will see you again, but good luck, Mr Jameson."
With that, he left, and Harry found that although he'd been given further clarification on his own thoughts, once more, he had more questions that needed answering.
The Serpent, Abernathy, the ICW, Lord and Lady Bones, and any other link he was missing would now play on his mind, and in truth, he didn't know where best to start.
When the water he was treading seemed to clear, something else came along to muddy it further.
Still, he was making progress, and although investigating the Vice President of Macusa would undoubtedly be a dangerous undertaking, it was an unavoidable task if he wished to discover the truth of what was happening in the world.
His findings thus far only made him more curious, and given the life he tended to live, Harry had no doubt that there would be more surprises along the way.
(Break)
"You know, it would help if half of them knew their arses from their elbows," Moody grumbled as the latest batch of recruits filed passed.
Some were sweating profusely from the rigorous training Grimm was putting them through, and several had already dropped out, unable to cope with the regime.
"That bad?" Amelia asked.
Moody grunted irritably.
"Aye, but I'll whip them into shape or kill them trying," he declared, grinning maliciously to himself.
Amelia could only shake her head.
The man was a sadist, and she could think of no place in the world where he could exist other than here, where he wouldn't find himself in trouble.
Even as an Auror, he still managed to cause enough of it.
Nonetheless, she would rather have him on their side.
He was an excellent wizard, and his willingness to throw himself into the mix of the worst possible situations was admirable, but she couldn't help but think it would get him killed one day.
Not that Alastor would care.
He'd see such a death as a badge of honour.
"How was it?" she asked Imelda as the younger woman joined her.
She shrugged in response.
"Smith seems happy with my work," Imelda answered. "He didn't have anything to chastise me about, so it could've been worse. How often do we have appraisals?"
"Every year."
"How has Moody not been called up for what he does?"
Amelia chuckled.
"He's always getting called up for it, but both Grimm and Smith can't argue with his record, and he's good at talking his way out of things. When you find yourself facing disciplinary action as much as Alastor, you have to be."
Imelda shook her head amusedly.
She'd grown just as fond of Moody as anyone else who had the distinct pleasure of working with him.
"Don't we have to see Jenny?" Imelda asked, pulling Amelia from her thoughts.
She nodded and gestured for the other woman to follow.
"What do you think the cause of death is?"
"Poison, probably," Amelia answered. "I can't think of anyone who would want to poison him, but I can't say I ever really understand why anyone would wish to murder someone. All of the reasons they give are always trivial."
"Some people are more prone to violent reactions than others," Imelda pointed out. "My father told me that. He said that some men thrived during the war, and others struggled with what they did."
"What about him?"
"He doesn't talk about what he did, but I can see it haunts him. Some days, he is really quiet, and others, he is overly happy, as though he is just grateful to be alive."
Amelia nodded her understanding.
Harry had days like that, and though he had not fought during the war against Grindelwald, he'd fought his own personal war for much of his life.
"You'll have to wait a few minutes," Jenny explained as they entered her examination room. "I'm just finishing up with him."
"Poison?" Amelia asked.
"That's what killed him, but it is much less pleasant than that," Jenny sighed, handing her the clipboard.
She read through the summary quickly and shook her head.
"Tortured, healed, and then poisoned?"
"Someone tried to cover up what happened, but it gets worse. Keep reading."
Amelia did so, and her eyes widened.
"Recently infected with Lycanthropy?"
"He'd not even experienced his first transformation," Jenny explained, but whatever wound he had from being bitten is gone. He was healed quickly after, almost as though either he or whoever bit him wanted to cover it up. With him being dead, we won't know the truth."
"Merlin," Amelia whispered, "and then he was tortured."
"I'd say, judging by how fresh the infection was, it happened less than a week later."
"Doesn't Lycanthropy protect you against poisoning?" Imelda asked.
"When it has matured," Jenny answered. "For the first month or so, the body is weak, and not even Lycanthropy can prevent the host from succumbing to poison and other things werewolves are resistant to."
"And the person who killed him would have to have known that, if they knew he was a werewolf."
"I suspect they discovered his wound and healed it along with the other traces of torture," Jenny speculated, "but that's another thing we can't be certain of."
"Well, this took a strange turn," Imelda commented. "What the hell did he get himself involved in?"
"More importantly, who infected him?" Amelia returned, her thoughts drifting to the wayward, infamous werewolf she had encountered in the Forbidden Forest. "We need to check for any reports of recent werewolf activity," she declared. "Come on, Imelda."
They left the examination room, and Amelia couldn't shake the feeling that this went far beyond a simple werewolf attack.
It couldn't be a coincidence that this man had been targeted twice, only days apart.
No, there was more to it, and she was determined to find out what had happened.
"Sir!" she called as she spotted Grimm crossing through the recently repaired open office. "Has anyone reported anything pertaining to werewolves?"
The man frowned as he shook his head.
"I do not believe so, Auror Bones," he answered. "Why?"
"The man in the examination room was infected with Lycanthropy in the days leading up to his murder," Amelia explained. "Jenny has concluded that he was tortured and healed before being poisoned."
"That seems rather excessive," Grimm replied thoughtfully. "The only reason someone would do that is to cover something up, but what?"
"That's what we are going to look into."
Grimm nodded his approval.
"Careful, Bones," he urged. "Remember the last incident we had involving werewolves."
Amelia couldn't forget if she wanted to.
The image of what remained of the village after Greyback's pack had torn through it was forever burned into her memory, and though she was certain the same pack was not behind this incident, she was aware of Greyback's current status.
He was out there somewhere, and she could not dismiss the notion that the monster would not risk returning to Britain if he felt it would benefit him.
Without a pack, however, Amelia could not see why he would.
It made little sense, not when he would only find himself locked away again if he was caught.
Perhaps she was jumping to the wrong conclusion, but she knew she needed to be certain.
Maybe it would be best to mention it to Harry.
It would at least give her an insight as to the status of the pack he had relocated.
He had not mentioned them or any problems, but that didn't mean Greyback was not responsible for this.
(Break)
His work as an unspeakable had not brought him to the United States of America much. Harry could only think of one occasion he'd visited the country, and that had been to consult with an American Auror, who had been an expert in Incan magic.
His stay had been brief and did not involve him visiting the Macusa headquarters in New York City.
Being here now, he had seen the impact Grindelwald's presence had left.
Security was tight and with swathes of people coming in and out of the building, he'd not chanced entering under his cloak.
Perhaps he'd have better luck at night-time, but then the man he wished to observe was unlikely to be here.
No, as much as it would be convenient to target Abernathy directly, it was unwise to do so.
Instead, his attention was on another, and as he looked for any sign of the young man he'd seen photographed with the Vice President, Harry checked his watch for the dozenth time.
The evening was drawing in, which meant it was late back home, and the time difference was not something he'd considered before venturing here.
With a shake of his head, he decided to return, in the knowledge that he may have to do so several times in the coming days before he would spot the man he sought.
It was a reminder that even the simplest aspect of the dangerous and complex task ahead of him would be no easy feat to achieve.
Activating his portkey, it was only a moment later that he was walking into the kitchen, pondering how to proceed.
It was the sight of Amelia reading through a stack of parchment that pulled him from his thoughts.
She'd not noticed his arrival, and a deep frown creased her brow as she went about her work, though she jumped as he rested a hand on her shoulder.
"You scared the daylights out of me," she gasped.
"There's not much daylight left out there," Harry pointed out with a grin, nodding towards the window.
Amelia rolled her eyes at him but still offered him a warm smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I've not seen much of you this week," she commented offhandedly.
"Miss me?"
"Would you believe me if I denied it?"
"No."
"Then shut up," Amelia grumbled amusedly, sighing as she sunk further into the embrace.
"What're you looking at?"
"A strange murder."
"That doesn't look like it makes for light reading."
Amelia shook her head.
"The victim was tortured, healed, and poisoned," she explained. "The strange thing is, he was infected with Lycanthropy in the week leading up to it. Are all of the werewolves accounted for?"
Harry nodded.
"They can't leave without me being aware of it, and no one can enter the land. I'd know if any of them had left."
Amelia nodded her understanding.
"You think Greyback might be behind it."
"It has crossed my mind."
"It's possible," Harry replied. "No one knows where he is, and knowing how useless the Ministry is, he could've found his way back into Britain."
"I'm sure we will find out soon enough, but would he risk it without his pack?"
"He's been free for some time now," Harry reminded her. "He could've built a sizeable pack in that time, or it's not him at all."
"What do you think?"
Harry shook his head.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Just be careful."
"You're not worried about me, are you?" Amelia asked.
Harry shot her a pointed look, not missing the grin cresting her lips.
"Not with Greyback," he assured her, "but there are other things out there."
"Riddle."
Harry nodded.
"He may be quiet at the moment, but it won't last."
There had been no sign of the Dark Lord nor his followers in recent days.
It had given Harry the time he needed to begin piecing together his approach to the other problem plaguing him, but Tom wasn't far from his thoughts.
He still intended to put an end to the man as quickly as possible, but Riddle would not make that easy.
With not knowing how many Horcruxes the man had created by now, and where all of them were, it was troubling Harry, but not so much that he wouldn't kill Tom, even without finding them all.
Still, killing him presented enough of a challenge and came with much risk.
Although he was a petulant and egotistical megalomaniac, his talent and prowess could not be denied.
"What's on your mind?" Amelia asked. "You've barely spoke this past week."
Harry offered her an apologetic smile.
"I know, and I will tell you," he promised. "I just need to make sense of a few things before I do."
Amelia eyed him questioningly for a moment before nodding.
It was one of the things he appreciated about her.
She didn't push or force Harry to discuss things he wasn't ready to or couldn't quite explain. Amelia trusted him, and it was mutual.
Often, he couldn't believe how far they'd come since their first meeting, but Harry was grateful to have her in his life.
Just knowing she was there kept him grounded and helped curb his more reckless tendencies.
Maybe it was because he realised he finally had someone he did not wish to leave behind by doing something foolish, or just that he'd matured somewhat after his unwitting journey through time.
Regardless of the reasoning, coming home to Amelia each day was something Harry did not take for granted.
"If it makes you feel better, I'll visit the farm tomorrow to check the protections," he offered.
Amelia nodded appreciatively and kissed him, groaning as a shrill whistle sounded throughout the room.
"So much for his lot being quiet," she huffed as she removed her Auror card and shook her head.
"Is it him?"
Amelia nodded.
"Portsmouth," she informed him. "I'd better go."
"I'll see you there," Harry responded as he drew his wand and vanished before Amelia could protest.
It was not difficult to locate where the disturbance was taking place.
High above the town centre, the Dark Mark stood proudly, the bright green stark against the night sky.
Harry could only shake his head as he surveyed the scene before apparating on top of one of the taller buildings he could see.
Below him, the Death Eaters were causing no end of destruction, and in the middle of them all was the pale visage of Tom Riddle.
As outnumbered as he was, he knew it would be reckless to attack them directly, but he couldn't wait for the Aurors to arrive.
With that in mind, he set to work, raising his wand and taking aim in a bid to hinder the marauding cloaked men and women.
(Break)
It felt good to be back on his feet again without feeling fatigued, short of breath, or experiencing any other discomfort he'd been left with after his latest encounter with Harry Jameson.
The Dark Lord had not intended to be away for so long, but his recovery had taken longer than expected.
Nonetheless, he felt better than ever and had gathered his followers for a little light entertainment for the evening just to remind wizarding Britain that he had not simply vanished.
No, he was back and would see his plans through to the very end.
Lord Voldemort took no small amount of pleasure in the screams of the fleeing muggles, and the joyous laughter of the robed and masked wizards was like music to his ears, though he couldn't help but feel that there was something in the air.
It made him feel uneasy, and as he watched the Dark Mark above him explode in a shower of sparks, that feeling only became more prominent.
The laughter ceased, and a sense of concern washed over him as the ground beneath his feet began to tremble.
There was no sign of the Aurors, but something was deeply amiss.
A loud bang and the sound of metal smashing into concrete drew his attention from one drain cover to another, as one by one, they were hurled into the air before crashing back down to the ground.
The Dark Lord could only look on as the sparks from the Dark Mark were guided into the holes, and his eyes widened as green geysers of water erupted from each.
Panic quickly ensued as the streets were rapidly flooded with torrential water, chasing Voldemort and his followers in an attempt to drown them.
It was then that the Dark Lord caught sight of the figure on one of the rooftops above, a lone figure directing the magic.
"Jameson!" Voldemort growled, raising his wand, only to stumbled backwards as a gout of water reared up in front of him, assuming the form of a snake.
"STOP!" he hissed furiously but was ignored by the serpent.
It struck at him, and only his fast reflexes prevented him from being engulfed.
Whipping his wand instinctively, he diverted the snake and glared at the figure on the roof.
Was it Jameson?
It was impossible to tell because the man was so far away, but no one else would dare encroach on his efforts in such a brazen way.
"We need to get out of here," Avery gasped, pulling the Dark Lord into a nearby alley. "Aurors."
Reluctantly, Voldemort nodded, cursing under his breath as he activated his portkey, though he grinned at the sight of the swarming Aurors, who were once again too late to prevent the damage that had already been done.
(Break)
He'd walked these corridors countless times before, but in the many years that had passed since his last visit, he had not envisioned doing so again. It was odd to be here and not a welcome strangeness to the familiarity his life had taken on.
He was married now with three children and lived only what he could deem to be a pedestrian existence in comparison to what it had once been.
What had happened to Eleanor had torn him from the path he'd been set on, but for Harry, there had not been a moment of hesitation to walk away from it all.
Doing so had given him the normality he'd always craved away from war, and away from the Dark Lords that plagued him.
He'd walked away with no shame, no guilt, and no regrets.
Until recently, they'd been left alone.
He had his own successful business, working for the goblins his wife had once robbed for her amusement—not that they knew that.
They merely assumed the burglar had decided to stop taking vast sums of gold from them, but the truth was that Harry had cornered the young woman, and instead of taking her in, he'd let her go.
Why should he care about the selfish creatures who would likely attempt to double-cross him?
If only allowing Eleanor to go free had been the last of it.
He'd bumped into her in Bulgaria only a few months later, and what should've been a whirlwind romance started from there.
Barely a day would go by that he didn't see her, and evidently, their trysts had been noticed.
Within a matter of months, he'd received the note demanding a meeting to negotiate her release.
The rest was history, and although he harboured bitterness and anger towards those who'd dared commit such a transgression against him for the sake of the woman he'd fallen in love with, he'd let it pass.
Not that he had much of a choice.
The vow he'd given had seen to that, and even being here once more, Harry knew he was pushing the magic to its boundaries.
"Come in," the familiar voice bade as he knocked on the door. "Jameson, I wasn't expecting…"
The man broke off, his eyes widening in shock as he took in Harry's appearance.
"Well, you know the reason I am here," Harry acknowledged. "That's a good start."
"E-Evans?" Ghost choked.
Harry offered the man a nod.
"I think you have some explaining to do, don't you, old friend?"