Chapter 50
"Do you know what it is?" Nicholas asked as he inspected the metal disc.
"Funnily enough, I do," Harry said with a frown. "It's a device designed to create a doorway through the protections around a property. It's of Norwegian design and was banned in Britain during the late seventies when Voldemort was using them. I don't know how he got hold of it, but he has a way of getting what he wants. Even where I'm from, these were very useful for us when we were investigating a site. I never thought…"
He broke off and took a deep breath.
Harry was equally saddened and angry at what had happened.
He cared little for the greenhouses and torched lands, but the werewolves he considered to be friends were irreplaceable.
Not a single one had been left alive, and what was troubling was that he knew nothing about it until it was too late.
"They must've left in a hurry if they forgot this," Nicholas mused aloud.
Harry nodded.
"I expect they were still there when I arrived and made their escape. They didn't leave anything else behind."
"Professionals," Nicholas deduced.
"Norwegian professionals," Harry clarified, "and maybe some others."
Nicholas released a deep sigh.
"So, what now?"
Harry frowned.
He'd been pondering that very question since he'd arrived at the farm and had thought of little else. Thus far, the war between himself and the ICW representatives had been almost silent, but with such a bold move made against him, he saw no reason for it to continue to be.
They'd crossed a line, and he would not let it pass without significant reprisals, and he knew exactly where he was going to begin.
"I don't know," he answered. "I'm trying to figure out how they found the place. Only I and two others knew about it."
"Were they Canadians?"
"Yes."
"Then you must consider that the French were involved," Nicholas urged. "Most within both Ministries are related or know people who are by association. Much of the Canadian population has French heritage, Harry."
"I didn't think of that," Harry huffed.
"It's something easily overlooked," Nicholas offered apologetically. "Laurent undoubtedly has connections there, so if I were you, I would check with the people who did know about it. Knowing what protections you had in place, it would've been impossible to find without someone breaking your trust."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"I will speak with them," he assured the man. "Not that it will make any difference. The farm is gone, and the werewolves with it."
Nicholas gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.
"I am sorry for your loss, Harry," he said sincerely.
"it's my own fault. I overestimated my ability to keep them safe."
"But you weren't to know they would be found," Nicholas pointed out. "You did everything you could to ensure it wouldn't happen. Unfortunately, sometimes even our best efforts are not enough. You did nothing wrong in this. The sole blame lies with those who did it."
"I know, and they will pay for it," Harry declared as he stood.
Nicholas offered him a sad smile.
"You know, I've been alive for more than six centuries, and the one thing that hasn't changed is that war always rears its ugly head. It's as though we humans simply cannot learn from the past. When one war ends, another begins shortly after. I had hoped that after Grindelwald, things would be different."
"There will always be another tyrant to take the place of one who has been defeated."
"And there will always be good men to fight against them," Nicholas replied.
Harry chuckled humourlessly.
"I just wish it wasn't me for once," he huffed.
"I know," Nicholas offered sympathetically. "What now?"
"Now, I remind them that they've picked a fight with the wrong person. Payback will be swift and with as much mercy as they showed the werewolves."
Harry meant every word.
There would be no more holding back or treading carefully when it came to his enemies. They had proven their willingness to harm him in any way they could, and he would show them equal consideration.
Before the war was over, they would all see the errors in their ways.
Harry would ensure that.
He'd already begun the process by sending a personal package to one of his foes and only wished he could be there to see the reaction when it was received.
(Break)
"Jameson's farm is finished. There's nothing left."
"And the werewolves?"
"Dead," the man answered simply.
Sebastien grinned gleefully as he placed a large bag of gold on the desk, every galleon of it well spent.
"Then I would keep a low profile," Sebastien urged.
The man frowned.
"Who is this Jameson?" he asked.
"A very dangerous man, and I suspect he will be looking for those responsible. Do not worry; he will be dealt with soon enough." The man scowled and snatched up the bag of gold he would be sharing with his team.
Berg could pay the Norwegians out of his own pocket.
"Dead," Sebastien whispered, taking a moment to revel in the success of the mission, though a deep frown marred his features as the door to his office opened.
Manon entered, her expression one of alarm as she slammed a newspaper on the desk before him.
"Fontaine," she said simply.
Sebastien cursed in his native tongue as he read of what had befallen his colleague.
"Murdered in his office," he whispered. "How did they get to him?"
Manon's nostrils flared.
"His assistant was found murdered in her home shortly after."
"By the same person?"
"By the same person," Manon confirmed. "What have you gotten us into, Sebastien?"
He waved the woman off.
"Fontaine is replaceable," he said dismissively, though he couldn't hide the budding concern growing within him.
It was troubling, to say the least, and Sebastien wondered if Jameson had struck back immediately.
It was likely, though, why he had chosen Fontaine as his target, Sebastien didn't know.
Perhaps he was merely the easiest to get to on such short notice, or perhaps the attack had been planned well in advance.
"What is it?" Sebastien snapped as a knock sounded at his door.
"Apologies, Minister, but this arrived for you," his assistant explained.
She was carrying a large box from Sebastien's favourite bakery, and he gestured for the woman to place it on the desk. Jean the baker regularly sent him breakfast, a gesture much appreciated by the Minister.
His joy, however, proved to be short-lived, and he yelped in surprise as he opened the box.
Instead of finding a selection of his favourite goods, the grotesque sight of a severed head was what greeted him.
"Pierre!" Manon exclaimed in shock, her eyes wide with horror as she looked upon the lifeless expression of her nephew.
Sebastien swallowed a mouthful of bile that had risen from his throat as he peered into the box once more.
It was indeed the head of Pierre Dubois, but what caught his attention was the live snake protruding from his mouth, and next to it, a note addressed to him.
"Read it!" Manon hissed furiously.
With a trembling hand, Sebastien retrieved the piece of parchment and unfolded it, wincing as a cold voice spoke aloud.
'Everything you hold dear will be destroyed until I have you at my mercy, Laurent. Your death will not be swift, and your suffering will be great. This is only the beginning.'
A loud hissing filled the room and Sebastien took a step back as the snake reared its head before bursting into flames, leaving nothing of itself, the box, and Pierre's head except a small pile of ashes.
Silence filled the room for several moments and Sebastien could only stare at the spot the box had rested.
"Fix it!" Manon spat before storming from the room, pulling the Minister from his reverie.
"Sebastien!"
"What now?" Sebastien groaned as his door opened once more.
It was Delacour, and he looked positively alarmed.
"Jean's bakery is on fire!"
"On fire?"
Delacour nodded and said nothing else as he left.
The Aurors would deal with the fire, but it was not something Sebastien wanted to hear.
The attack on the bakery was personal, but not more so than the one on Pierre.
How Jameson had gotten to the man was beyond Sebastien, but it was as troubling as the package reaching him in the first place.
"Marie?" he called, summoning his assistant.
The young woman entered and offered him a look of concern.
"Are you alright, Minister?" she asked.
"Never mind that," Sebastien huffed. "Who brought the package to you?"
"Jean did, Minister."
"Did he seem like himself?"
Marie frowned as she nodded.
"He did."
Sebastien released a deep breath and waved his assistant off.
He may have gotten one over on Jameson, but the man had indeed struck back swiftly, and with quite the vengeance.
Manon was exceedingly fond of her nephew, and his loss would only spur her fury.
Were it not for the fact she was in hiding and posing as his late wife, Sebastien had no doubt she would be looking for Jameson herself, though judging by what he had just witnessed, that perhaps was not a good idea.
He needed to warn Berg and discuss what had happened to Fontaine with the others.
They would not be pleased.
(Break)
The Dark Lord eyed the grinning werewolf as he entered the room. Greyback looked rather pleased with himself, and chuckled as he took a seat and lean back casually in the chair.
"Might I assume that you have experienced some success, Fenrir?" Voldemort asked.
"You could say that," the werewolf replied, his grin widening. "My former pack is dead, and Jameson's farm is just a patch of burnt land."
"Jameson?" the Dark Lord asked with a frown.
Greyback nodded.
"I had some help from some friends on the continent, but we wiped the whole thing off the face of the Earth," he gloated.
"Is that so?" Voldemort asked amusedly. "So, Jameson will be quite distracted for some time."
"It will take him days to clean that mess."
"Then we should not waste a moment," Voldemort declared. "Let us take advantage of the opportunity. Walden?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"Where are the giants?"
"Currently resting just outside of Grimsby, my lord."
"Then see that they're ready to move," Voldemort instructed, consulting the map he kept nearby.
"To where?"
The Dark Lord traced the surrounding area with his finger before nodding to himself.
"Scunthorpe," he decided.
Macnair frowned.
"It will take them the night to reach it and find somewhere to set up camp."
"Then we will attack tomorrow night," Voldemort informed the man.
"Of course, my lord," Walden complied with a nod, taking his leave of the room.
"You're not too exhausted from your own venture, are you, Fenrir?"
The werewolf laughed.
"It was over before I could really enjoy it."
"Good, then alert your pack and move them. I'm sure they will be of use to us tomorrow."
Greyback bared his yellow teeth in response and followed Walden, leaving the Dark Lord to his anticipation.
If Jameson was out of the country, they could strike quite the blow against the Ministry, and bring them one step closer to seizing the power he desired.
It was just what Lord Voldemort had been waiting for.
(Break)
Already, the office looked considerably fuller with the numbers of the group having increased. Along with Alastor, Kingsley Shacklebolt had joined them, with Edgar Bones and Emmeline Vance, quite the talented witch in her own right.
With Alastor on restricted duties, it gave the man the perfect opportunity to spend his time in the Ministry of Magic, listening for any whispers of those who may be supporting Tom in his efforts.
"Any news?" Albus asked.
"I may have someone who will be able to help us," Kingsley spoke up. "He's a petty criminal, but his information can sometimes prove to be useful. He has a tendency to know things he shouldn't. Would you like to meet with him?"
Albus nodded.
"I will do so, though not with the rest of the group until I am satisfied he is not a liability."
"If you mean Fletcher, then he is a liability," Alastor chuckled, "but Kingsley is right. He could be useful to us."
"Then I shall consider it carefully," Albus assured his friend. "Anything else?"
Alastor nodded.
"Since I've been back at the Ministry, a couple of things have caught my attention," he informed the group. "The first thing is the Department of Magical Transportation. There is an increasing number of unregistered portkeys being used, and nothing is being done about it. Someone is either turning a blind eye to it, or…"
"They're in on it," Albus said unhappily. "See what you can find, Alastor."
"I will do my best," the Auror assured him. "It's not easy getting a look at their documents, but if we have reason to, we can seize them. All documents contain the name of whoever dealt with the infraction."
Albus nodded.
"There was something else?"
"Aye," Moody murmured. "I've been doing some digging where I can, and I found that Walden Macnair, the executor for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, took a leave of absence quite recently, and he returned shortly after the giant attack."
Albus frowned at the revelation.
"Do you think his absence is connected?"
"Aye, I do," Alastor confirmed. "He's just the type to follow a nutter like Riddle."
"Then we should keep a close eye on Mr Macnair. If I remember correctly, he had quite an affinity for working with creatures. I must say, I was rather surprised to hear he'd taken the executioner's job."
"When you get to know him, it's not a surprise," Minerva chimed in. "He always was rather unpleasant. I had him in my office several times for various reasons."
"Indeed," Albus acknowledged. "Well, if there is nothing else, perhaps we can move onto something considerably brighter. As I am sure you are all aware, our very own Arthur and Molly will be getting married tomorrow."
Both grinned from ear to ear at the announcement.
"I just wanted to wish you the very best of luck before the big day. I am certain it will be a wonderful service and that you will have a very happy life together."
The other members gave the two a round of applause. It was refreshing to be able to celebrate something rather than be inundated entirely with the doom and gloom of war.
"If there is nothing else, I will end the meeting there. Thank you all for coming."
The room soon emptied, and only Alastor remained behind.
"I am serious about Macnair, Albus," he reiterated. "I would bet my life that he is involved in all of this."
"I do not doubt you, Alastor, but proving it may be another thing entirely. You know as well as I do that we need evidence."
"Aye and I'll damn well find it," Moody declared, hobbling from the room.
Albus was glad to have such a man on his side.
Alastor was not only a brilliant Auror but someone the headmaster would trust with his life, though he hoped he never found himself in such a situation that it became a necessity.
(Break)
"I cannot fathom what it is you hoped to achieve by destroying his farm," Abernathy vented. "What the hell were you thinking? That is not how we operate."
Sebastien frowned at the American.
Abernathy held the most sway among the group, and in the political arena, but that didn't give him the right to be so dismissive of what they'd done.
"It will cause him financial hardship," Berg interjected.
Abernathy chuckled humourlessly.
"Financial hardship?" he scoffed. "If you think men like Jameson rely on a single farm for his stability, then you are entirely clueless."
"A show of strength," Sebastien broke in. "It showed him that we are not to be crossed."
"And how did that work out for you, Laurent?" Abernathy asked. "He sent Dubois' nephew's head to you in a fucking box. How does he even know about Dubois?"
"We don't know that he does," Sebastien pointed out.
Abernathy shook his head.
"We must assume that he does," he mused aloud. You acted rashly, and all you've done is give him reason to be blunter in his attack. Somehow, he got to Fontaine and Broz. He killed Dubois, a Hit Wizard, and from his message to you, we can all but confirm that he is indeed in league with the Serpent. You both messed up. Jameson could've been dealt with quietly, but now he is going to come for us with everything he has. Do you think he can't find us? Because if you do, you haven't been paying close enough attention to what he is capable of. I'm giving you one last chance to fix this, Laurent. Do not mess it up again."
With that, he stormed from the room, and Sebastien shook his head.
It was unlike Abernathy to be concerned by one man, but he could understand the caution surrounding Jameson.
The man was enigmatic and had already proven just how dangerous he could be.
Sebastien needed to ponder his next course of action and be certain that it would not result in failure.
His efforts at the farm had gone to plan, though if anything, it had made things worse.
Abernathy was right.
This wasn't how they operated.
If someone needed to be eliminated, they would not live to see another week.
Jameson, however, had proven to be elusive, and as much a threat as any other that had garnered the attention of the group.
Still, just like the others who had come before him, he would die.
Sebastien just needed to discover how to make that happen before Jameson struck another blow against them.
(Break)
It was with an unreadable expression that Edgar eyed him, and Harry wondered if he'd made a mistake by asking the man for his permission to marry Amelia.
Bellatrix had helped him send the letter requesting a meeting, and having plucked up the courage to ask, Edgar had yet to say anything.
"You know, I've been rather tolerant of what has been going on between the two of you," he eventually sighed. "You're not a pureblood, Harry, so I understand that things might be different for you, but for us, there is a tradition to follow, and that hasn't happened. For all intents and purposes, Amelia is already living with you, and people have been talking."
Harry nodded.
Edgar was not the first person to point it out.
"But, I can't say that our lives here have been all that traditional since our parents died," the man continued, "and Amelia certainly isn't a trophy, pureblood wife. There are very few who would allow her to continue doing what she does. To many, being an Auror is not worthy of a good wife, and to some, it would be an insult. I could never allow Amelia to be married to someone who would take her dreams away. Being an Auror is what she is good at, and she'd probably kill me if I ever tried."
"True," Harry said amusedly.
"And she would kill me even if I considered denying you," Edgar huffed. "Not that I would. You're a good man, Harry. This isn't easy for me, but you have proven that there is nothing you wouldn't do to keep her safe. If she agrees, then you have my full blessing to marry her. Now, come and have a drink with me," he added with a sincere smile.
Harry shook his head as he adjusted his tie.
He had shared a drink with Edgar, and the man had been very forthcoming with tales of the Bones' siblings childhood, with stories Harry suspected Amelia would not be pleased he knew.
Still, they might just come in useful one day if she agreed to marry him.
He'd intended on broaching the subject with her before the attack on the farm, and even though he wasn't quite sure how he would go about it, he'd chosen that moment to save himself from having it plaguing his mind.
"How do I look?"
He turned to be greeted by the sight of Amelia in a form-fitting, royal blue dress with matching hat, and he shook his head.
"If you need me to tell you how beautiful you are…" he chuckled.
Amelia shot him a playful glare.
"You know I don't usually wear these things," she huffed, tugging at the seams around her knees.
"Uncomfortable?"
"No, just not used to it. A few encouraging words would be nice."
Taking pity on her, Harry grasped her hands and gave them a comforting squeeze.
"I'm quite tempted to not let you go," he murmured. "You might just realise you can do better than me."
She rolled her eyes at him and swatted his hands away.
"Shut up, Jameson."
"If only I was joking," Harry lamented. "There's not a person who's going to be there who will come close."
Her cheeks began to redden and she shot him another glare.
"You know, I've never met anyone who can make me feel so self-conscious in a good way before," she mused aloud.
"Or someone who has the ability to annoy you the way I do," Harry pointed out.
"That's true. Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment."
"Could be. Or, maybe I am."
"And what have I done to cause you such stress?"
"Nothing," Harry answered honestly. "Not for a while, at least."
Amelia hummed.
"The same cannot be said for you," she returned. "Destroying banks, and Merlin knows whatever else it is you get up to, Jameson."
Harry held his hands up, conceding the point.
"Do you think we will ever have the peace you wanted so badly when you first came here?"
"I bloody well hope so," Harry muttered.
"Knowing you, you'd get bored of it quite quickly."
Harry shook his head.
"I didn't before," he chuckled. "You know, before I met you, I did have something of a peaceful life."
He did.
After Voldemort was gone, and when he'd all but left most of the wizarding world behind, Harry had carved something of a peaceful life for himself. Granted, it wasn't as fulfilling as he would've liked, but it didn't involve insane Dark Lords or a group of world leaders manipulating the world around them through murder, extortion, and whatever other means at their disposal.
Nonetheless, Harry knew he wouldn't change a thing.
Despite the turn his life had taken once more since journeying into the past, there was little he would do differently, and pondering it only served to remind him of why he'd involved himself in it in the first place.
For Amelia.
He still held strongly to his belief that he would watch the world burn around him before embroiling himself in anything resembling war, and yet, here he was.
Still, he wasn't doing it for glory, or for anything else for that matter.
He was doing it for her, all of it.
"Well, what's stopping you from going back to that peaceful life? I'm sure you could walk away from everything if you wanted to."
"You," Harry answered honestly. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't bother."
Amelia shook her head.
"I don't believe that. I don't think you could sit by and let all of this happen."
Harry snorted amusedly.
"Maybe," he conceded, "but I think you are underestimating just how easily I could've ignored it if I hadn't met you."
Amelia blushed again before threading her arm through his.
"We should go before I turn permanently red."
"We probably should," Harry agreed, feeling somehow less nervous about what the future might hold.
He'd meant what he said.
Although he was yet to experience much of it throughout his life, he could see himself being more than satisfied with a peaceful existence if Amelia was a part of it.
He just needed to ensure that such a thing would be possible, and to do that, he would have to continue the war on both fronts he'd already been fighting.
(Break)
Even now that he'd arrived at the infamous prison built by someone he'd considered a foe for many years, he questioned his decision to come here in the first place.
There would be no satisfaction in seeing Grindelwald locked away, nor did he expect to take any joy in the two of them potentially goading one another, but he felt he needed to come to finally put what had happened during the war to bed.
Nurmengard was an unpleasant building, and the protections surrounding it were admittedly as impressive as any other he'd come across elsewhere, but it wasn't the architecture or the magic he'd come to admire.
It was closure he sought, and he knew he required it if he was to somewhat work with the former Dark Lord.
"I did expect I'd be seeing you, Evans," the familiar voice greeted him.
In the intervening years, Grindelwald had aged considerably.
The once handsome, charming, and proud man had been reduced to something he did not recognise, and yet, Harry took no comfort from it.
If given the chance, Gellert would be as dangerous as ever, and it was not something he'd ever taken for granted.
"I suppose it was inevitable," Harry acknowledged.
Grindelwald nodded.
"Not that I expected it to be in such circumstances," he replied. "I had thought that you'd find a way to break the vow and that you would only come to tear the prison down around me."
"Can it be broken?"
Grindelwald released a deep breath.
"Not so easily, and we made it as close to as impossible as we could. We couldn't afford to have you able to come for us again. Back then, I would have rather had you killed, but it wasn't to be. Now, I find myself grateful that you are alive. How has life treated you, Mr Evans?"
"Peacefully, until recently," Harry answered, finding it odd to be having something of an affable conversation with the man.
"Believe it or not, I am pleased to hear it," Grindelwald chuckled. "When the vow took effect, I did not wish you ill, and it was never a personal vendetta towards you. You merely stood in my way."
"Someone had to."
Grindelwald acknowledged the point with a nod.
"Without men like you, the world would be a different place, for better or for worse. Anyway, let us not dwell on what was and what isn't. It will serve no purpose in dealing with what is."
"It won't," Harry agreed. "Why do you care? You were never opposed to creating your own new world order. Why do you care what happens outside of these walls?"
"My intention was never to be a dictator," Grindelwald said thoughtfully. "My intention was to show the magical how dangerous the muggles were becoming and put us in a position where they couldn't harm us. The only way for that to be possible was to take control of them, and that meant being rid of the Statute of Secrecy. I still believe it will only come to harm us. My plan was to enlighten and see the magical world thrive where I believe it belongs. I did not wish to seize power for myself, but I was willing to go to any length to do what I believed in. You are a man cut from a similar cloth, Mr Evans. I'm sure you can understand that."
Harry nodded.
He understood, even if he didn't agree with Grindelwald's logic.
"I do sometimes wonder what would've happened if things had been different," he mused aloud.
"I expect we would've continued fighting until one of us was dead," Grindelwald snorted. "You always were a worthy opponent, and my end would've been much more to my taste. You wouldn't have imprisoned me, not the way Albus has."
"You're alive," Harry pointed out.
"I exist," Gellert corrected. "This is no life, Mr Evans. I am merely waiting for death, and I often find myself impatient."
"Death comes for us all, eventually."
Grindelwald nodded, his gaze flitting towards the end of the corridor where another set of footsteps was approaching.
"Evans," Cassiopeia Black hissed venomously.
Harry shook his head as he turned to greet the woman.
"Black. You look as evil and spiteful as ever."
"Flattery will get you nowhere with me," the woman growled.
Grindelwald looked between the two and chuckled, holding his hands up placatingly.
"You are on the same side," he reminded them.
"We will never be on the same side," Cassiopeia retorted stubbornly.
"You are working towards the same goal," Grindelwald sighed. "You must learn to work together at the very least. You may come to rely on one another as you work against them and being at each other's throats is not going to help. It will be your downfall."
Cassiopeia glared, and Harry ignored it.
The woman had never been a threat to him, not the way she liked to believe.
If it came to a fight between them, she didn't stand a chance, even if she had proven herself particularly effective.
"Fontaine?" he asked.
Cassiopeia grinned.
"Dead, and anything useful torn from his mind. I may not be able to make sense of it all, but it is a piece of the puzzle we will need."
"You did well," Harry offered. "I'm not beyond giving credit where it is due."
Cassiopeia was taken aback by the compliment and nodded appreciatively.
"So, what now?" she questioned.
"Well, after what they did to Jameson's farm, I expect he will start moving against them quickly. He will want Laurent, and he is already making progress on Abernathy. Berg is a problem we will likely have to solve together, and both Espinosa and Adamski will need to be eliminated before then."
"I'll take the Spaniard," Cassiopeia declared. "If you can find a way of dealing with Adamski, then do it."
She said nothing else as she turned and took her leave of the prison.
"She will not fail," Grindelwald assured Harry, who nodded.
He could not deny that it hurt his pride being so restricted, but with the death of Broz and Fontaine, he could feel the magic of the vow weakening.
He hoped that his shackles would be removed soon enough so that he could finish what he had started more than two decades earlier.
It had hung over him long enough, and he only wanted to be free of it.
Then, maybe, he could enjoy a peaceful life with Eleanor without the burden that had plagued him for so long.
Still, even though Laurent and his ilk were currently off-limits to him, the same was not true of Voldemort.
How that had come to be, he wasn't entirely sure.
Perhaps the magic of the prophecy was stronger than that of the vow he'd taken.
Regardless, he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to play his part when the time came.
Until then, he could wait.
He'd done so for more than twenty years, so even a few more wouldn't hurt.
Not that he believed it would take so long.
Riddle had already bitten off more than he could chew, and it was only a matter of time before he met his end.
(Break)
"The giants are in place?"
"They will arrive shortly, my lord," Walden assured him. "They have been instructed to begin the attack immediately."
"Good," Voldemort praised. "What is bothering you, Macnair? I do hope you are not having second thoughts."
The man's frown deepened as he shook his head.
"Of course not, my lord. I have become aware that a certain Auror is paying closer attention to our affairs within the Ministry than I'd like."
"Which Auror?"
"Moody," Macnair answered. "He's on restricted duty and is sticking his nose into things that shouldn't concern him. He's been poking around my department, and in transportations."
The Dark Lord hummed thoughtfully.
"Then he will be eliminated as a priority," he decided. "Would anyone like to volunteer? I expect he will arrive tonight."
"I'll do it, my lord," the voice of Evan Rosier replied. "I'll kill him."
Voldemort nodded approvingly.
"I do not doubt you will, Rosier," he chuckled.
The man was young but as talented as he was keen.
It would prove to be quite an interesting contest between the two.
"Ah, I do believe that is the giants," the Dark Lord announced, feeling the ground beneath his feet begin to tremble.
Only a moment later, the first sounds of structures being damaged reached them, and he stepped forwards from the shadows, his followers falling into step behind him.
(Break)
"Look how happy they are," Amelia said with a smile, nodding towards Arthur and Molly, who were sharing their first dance. "What happened to them…?"
She broke off, and Harry smiled fondly.
"They had seven children, but they lost one at the end of the war."
"Oh," Amelia said sadly.
Harry could only nod.
It was strange to see more and more familiar faces around him compared to when he'd first arrived.
Arthur and Molly had both been children at Hogwarts not so long ago, but if all remained the same for them, Bill would be born in the coming months.
It reminded Harry that with each passing year, he drew closer to the life he'd left behind, though he was determined things would change along the way.
"What about…?"
Harry held up a hand.
"Eventually, you're going to ask me a question you will not like the answer to," he murmured. "Sometimes, it's best not to know. Besides, I won't let those things happen again. Now, would you like to dance before Dumbledore makes it here and tries to introduce me to half a dozen people?"
Amelia looked at him amusedly.
"Dance, Jameson? Are you avoiding Dumbledore?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, but I'm quite enjoying my time with you. It's not often we get it."
"It's not," Amelia agreed, accepting his hand and allowing him to lead her onto the dancefloor.
Harry offered Albus a nod, and the man replied with a knowing smile, his eyes almost twinkling in the dimly lit room.
"Git," Harry sighed.
"I do hope you were not talking to me."
"Would I dare?"
"You're not exactly known for your caution, Jameson."
He grinned at her, and Amelia rolled her eyes, though Harry was distracted by the sudden piercing shrill emitting from the small bag she was carrying.
It also came from where Moody and Shacklebolt were standing near the bar, and the large tent they were in fell eerily silent, save for the alarms.
"Scunthorpe," Amelia said worriedly.
Moody was already stalking towards Dumbledore with Kingsley in tow, and the two men shared a hurried conversation.
Albus approached him as Amelia began transfiguring her clothes, and Harry merely nodded.
"I'll meet you there," he assured the man.
"Harry, wait!" Amelia pleaded. "You can't keep going on your own."
He offered her a knowing smile as he drew his wand.
"Don't worry, I won't be alone," he assured, vanishing after sending a brief message to those who needed to receive it.