All for one

by midnightsstar9212

For you

58. Chapter 58

Chapter 58

He could only shake his head as he eyed the mountain of reports that had been left on his desk. Sebastien's seeming death had come as a shock to Jean Delacour. As the Deputy Minister of Magic, it was his duty to fill in for his predecessor until he either officially took office or a replacement was named.

With how his tenure had been thus far, he wasn't even sure he wanted the job.

Being Sebastien's deputy for the past few years meant that, for the most part, he worked behind the scenes, away from the scrutiny he faced now.

The people wanted answers, and Jean simply had none to give.

"Who is it?" he called as a knock sounded at the door to his office. "Ah, Marie, what can I do for you?"

The woman had been Sebastien's assistant for almost two decades, and none had been more visibly affected by what had happened than her.

Even now, her eyes were red from a recent wave of tears, and the smile she offered him lacked any warmth.

"My Abernathy has arrived, Minister," she informed him, the last word spoken with audible difficulty.

Jean nodded.

"You can send him in when you're ready."

Marie merely nodded in response and left, leaving Jean to prepare himself for the impending conversation.

It was only a moment later that the American entered the office and Jean gestured for him to take a seat before he closed the door and cast a plethora of privacy charms to ensure they were not overheard.

"How are things?" Abernathy asked.

Jean released a deep breath as he shook his head.

"It's only been a few days, and I feel like I've aged ten years."

Abernathy chuckled amusedly.

"The job does that to you," he said empathetically. "It gets easier, well, it doesn't, but you get used to it."

"Great," Jean grumbled irritably.

"You'll be fine, Delacour. From what I can see, you're doing a good job."

"Thank you," Jean replied before sobering. "I did what you urged. I spoke with Dumbledore."

"You did?"

Abernathy leaned back interestedly in his chair as Jean nodded.

"I spoke with Jameson too."

Abernathy's expression darkened at the mention of the man.

"And what did you make of him?" he asked curiously.

Jean frowned.

"I think he's a damned liar," he growled, his usually cool demeanour slipping as he pondered the conversation he'd shared with Jameson. "Nothing he told me makes any sense. He's shifty, and I don't trust shifty people."

"Then you are wise," Abernathy sighed. "Jameson is…problematic. There is a reason Sebastien didn't like him, and I cannot shake the feeling that he is responsible for what happened. The people loved Sebastien, and those within the ICW respected him greatly. No, I can think of no other who would wish harm upon him except for Harry Jameson."

Jean nodded his agreement.

"He…"

He broke off, unsure if he should continue.

"He, what?"

Jean released a laboured breath.

"He asked for my help in one of his plots."

"He did?"

"He wants me to believe that Sebastien is alive and that he has gone into hiding to avoid his misdeeds catching up with him."

"What did he ask you to do?"

"Well," Jean said uneasily, unhappy that he'd complied as much as he had, "he asked that I give him access to Sebastien's paperwork."

"And you gave it to him?"

"Not everything," Jean denied. "Only just enough to satisfy his curiosity, and there certainly is nothing incriminating in there. All of it is official Ministry documentation. None of it was restricted."

Abernathy nodded.

"He won't be satisfied with that."

"No, I expect he will come back to me soon enough."

"Then perhaps we can use that to our advantage," Abernathy mused aloud. "Do you believe that he is responsible for what happened to Sebastien?"

"I don't know," Jean answered honestly. "There is no evidence to suggest his involvement, but I can't help but think that he is. It might just be a gut feeling…"

"And you should never ignore your instincts," Abernathy cut in. "If you believe it, then you should pursue it, even if it is only to eliminate him from your inquiries. If he is innocent, then he has nothing to hie."

"But he does," Jean muttered. "The man is hiding too much."

Abernathy nodded before looking at him speculatively.

"What would you like to do?" he asked. "In an ideal world, what would your next move be?"

Jean shrugged tiredly.

"I just want the damned truth. I want to know what happened and how much of it involves Jameson. I don't like him. Everything about the man screams that he is untrustworthy."

"I could help you," Abernathy offered.

Jean frowned.

"How?"

"Well, you did mention that he is likely to come back to you. We could use that to our advantage."

"How so?"

Abernathy became thoughtful for a moment.

"Leave it to me," he eventually replied. "I have an idea that will allow you to question him, but I must ask that you mention this to no one. Sebastien may have been my colleague, but first and foremost, he was my friend. If you give me the discretion, we can both get what we want from this situation. You will get your answers, and Jameson will be locked up for the rest of his days, or better yet, dead."

"You're not going to do anything illegal, are you?"

"Certainly not," Abernathy assured him. "I only need your minimal assistance. I will take care of the rest."

Jean was not certain it as the right thing to do, but he needed answers. He needed to know what had become of Sebastien Laurent.

"What would you have me do?"

(Break)

The files belonging to Sebastien Laurent made for interesting reading, though there was nothing dubious or obviously criminal about his activities as the French Minister of Magic.

For all intents and purpose, despite what Harry knew of the man, he could not say that Laurent had neglected his duties to the people of France. If anything, he was perhaps the most competent politician he'd come across.

Evidently, he paid close attention every document that was placed in front of him, often leaving notes to whomever it was to be returned to with suggestions, praise, or criticism where needed.

Nonetheless, his attention to detail did nothing to negate his villainous ways, and though there appeared to be little evidence of Laurent's wrongdoing, Harry knew better than to trust the documentation he'd read.

"There has to be more," he sighed to himself, his gaze flicking towards the clock on the wall.

He was due to meet with Delacour in only a few hours, so he would have the opportunity to discuss the few points of interest he had come across.

Although they were indeed interesting, there was nothing particularly damning about them.

If nothing else, Laurent had been exceedingly cautious with his dealings, and had likely resorted to the code he and his associates had adopted.

If only Harry had some luck in deciphering it.

He'd spent hours attempting to do so with nothing to show for his efforts, and not even Evans had been able to shine any light on the series of numbers and symbols the group had used to convey messages to one another.

Still, he was hopeful he would eventually succeed, but until then, his work would continue as seemingly blindly as ever.

Not that it mattered.

Cracking the code would be a boon to his efforts, but his goal remained the same.

Harry wanted to know what had befallen Amelia's parents in their days and put an end to Abernathy and the others.

Of course, he had every intention of tracking down Laurent, though with the means the man had at his disposal, that would be no easy feat.

Closing the file he'd been perusing in frustration; he stood and began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace.

Winter had once again reared its head, and being so far north in England, he felt every chill of it.

Not that the weather was much of a concern.

No, Harry was focused on dealing with the other things plaguing him, and with Riddle in hiding once more, it gave him time to invest in bringing down the corrupt officials of the ICW.

Checking the clock once more, he left his study, no closer to cracking the code or knowing just how deeply Laurent's betrayal of his positions went.

Perhaps Delacour would be able to shine some light on it, though Harry got the impression the man was reluctant to do so.

It was understandable.

Jean Delacour had spent several years working with Laurent, and the man had never given him a reason to believe he was corrupt.

What Harry had revealed, though not in full, had come as quite unpleasant revelation for Delacour, who had nothing but the utmost respect for his predecessor.

Harry had felt the same when he'd read Skeeter's book about Dumbledore.

The man he'd always seen as a great beacon of light and inspiration had certainly had something of a sordid past, and it had taken Harry some time to accept what he'd learned about Albus.

It would be a similar journey of inner turmoil for Jean Delacour, but Harry was hopeful the man would not choose to ignore all he'd said.

The fate of the magical world could well hinge on such a thing, after all.

(Break)

"We are not on the front page today," Sebastien declared, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. "I expect we will be forgotten about in a year or so."

"Do you really believe that?"

Sebastien shrugged as he continued flicking through the newspaper.

"Maybe not," he murmured, "but this attention won't last forever. Until then, we have everything we need."

Manon nodded as she gazed out of the window.

"I never expected it to come to this, and I know you are trying to be certain, but if Jameson or the Serpent get even a hint that we are alive…"

"They won't," Sebastien assured her as he clasped her shoulders from behind. "They will find enough of the bodies to be satisfied that we are dead. We were meticulous, Manon. We have more gold than we will ever spend, and we get to live out the rest of our years in paradise. Not a single soul knows of this place."

Manon offered him a weak smile.

"I hope you are right, Sebastien. We may have vanished into the shadows, but that is all that protects us now. We have nothing else."

Sebastien nodded and swallowed deeply.

For the past years, he'd been able to hide behind the fact that he was the Minister of Magic and the French representative of the ICW. With that gone, he no longer had any power or the protection that each position offered.

Still, it wasn't as though they would it.

To the world, they were dead, and here, they had all the documentation they would need in their new names, bank accounts that couldn't be linked to them, and a beautiful home to share their lives together.

If only he could rid himself of that unending sense of fear, the need to look out of the window every other minute to ensure they hadn't been found, everything would be quite perfect.

It would fade in time, but for now, Sebastien was taking no chances, especially when it came to men like Jameson and the Serpent, who somehow defied the odds and made the impossible look quite easy.

Once more, he peered out of the window to see nothing but the tropical breeze disturbing the undergrowth and the waves lapping against the shore.

No, they were perfectly safe here and would be for as long as they wished.

(Break)

Jean Delacour hid his nervousness and anger well behind the political mask he'd developed over years of practice as Harry Jameson entered his office.

The man was a habitual liar, but soon enough, the webs he'd spun would be unravelled, and the truth would be known.

He needed only to exercise just a few more moments of patience before Jameson's time would come.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," Jean greeted him with a smile and shook the proffered hand enthusiastically. "You don't mind if ensure our meeting remains private, do you? With what you have revealed to me, I would rather not risk certain long-standing colleagues potentially listening in."

"Go ahead," Jameson urged.

Jean fought the urge to turn his wand on the man and instead cast a series of privacy charms before activating the security measures already included with the office.

"There, that's better," he declared when he was done, replacing his wand up his sleeve before taking a seat behind his desk. "Have you had time to look through the papers I gave you?"

Jameson nodded and released a laboured breath.

"There is little of use," he replied with a shrug. "There are maybe two or three things I'd like you to clarify."

"Of course," Jean consented as he stood when Jameson began flicking through one of the files.

He took his place behind the man to see what he was looking at, but before Jameson could open his mouth to speak, Jean struck.

The syringe Abernathy had provided him was rammed into his neck, and Jameson roared in angry. His flailing fist connected with Jean's jaw, sending him sprawling, but before he could reach for his wand, the Aurors lying in wait outside the room were upon him.

"Stun him!" Jean commanded.

Jameson fell limp as the spell connected, and the dozen Aurors who had spilled into the room lashed him to the chair.

Jean spat a mouthful of blood on the floor as he was helped to his feet, and he levelled a glare at the unconscious Harry Jameson.

Abernathy and his cohorts had done everything they could think of to kill the man, and yet, all it had taken was to catch him off guard, enough Aurors to subdue him, and a little risk to his own health.

Despite the throbbing pain in his face, Jean smiled as he sent a message to Abernathy and retook his seat to wait for the arrival of the American.

(Break)

The Portuguese Minister of Magic was about a paranoid a person as Cassiopeia had ever seen. Whenever he left his office, he would be surrounded on all sides by his personal guard, who shepherded him through the halls of the Ministry.

When he was done working for the day, he would take a portkey home, where he would be greeted by another group of guards, anticipating his return.

From there, the house would go into lockdown, and nothing either entered or left until the following morning where Minister Sousa would repeat the same process.

The man had been rattled by what had happened to his companions, and he was taking no chances that the same fate might befall him.

It made it all but impossible for Cassiopeia to pinpoint an opportunity that Sousa could be eliminated.

He didn't even go to the bathroom alone.

She shook her head irritably as she took her leave of the Portuguese Ministry of Magic.

The maintenance man she was currently impersonating would be able to return to his job tomorrow, none the wiser to being her prisoner for the past few days.

Removing Sousa from the equation would've been quite the boon to their efforts, but as things were, it was too risky.

If the measures she had seen for herself were difficult to overcome, the others not on show didn't even bear considering such an attempt.

She'd learned not to take foolish risks when it came to these people, so Jameson and Evans would have to formulate their own plan.

For Cassiopeia, she would simply move on to the next target, and even before she'd taken her leave of Lisbon, her mind had already shifted towards a certain Dutch Minister she was keen to make the acquaintance of.

(Break)

It was the sharp pain in his neck that woke him, and for several moments, he could only hear a muffled voice whilst he tried to remember what had happened to him.

His vision was blurry, and his thoughts incoherent, but Harry had been in enough of these scenarios throughout his life to know that this wasn't good.

He was bereft of his wand, and he could feel something foreign pulsing through his veins, making him feel weak, tired, and out of touch with his magic.

Delacour.

He'd been discussing his findings within Laurent's paperwork with the man, and Delacour had stabbed him with something in the neck.

What it was, Harry didn't know, but he felt rotten to the core because of it.

Bound to a chair, he did his utmost to listen to the voices around him, and when his vision eventually began to clear, he recognised the two men in the room with him.

"Nice for you to join us, Jameson," Abernathy greeted him with a smug grin.

"Why don't you fuck yourself," Harry muttered, scowling as Abernathy seized a handful of his hair and wrenched his head backwards.

"You are a very rude and disrespectful man," he hissed. "No matter. Your days of being a thorn in my side are almost over."

Harry spat in the man's face and revelled in the revulsion that crossed his features.

It was worth the punch Abernathy retaliated with.

He'd been hit harder by Vernon when he'd been a boy.

Abernathy wiped the saliva from his cheek and grinned.

"Defiant to the very end. I expected no less, but rest assured, Mr Jameson, you will suffer for that."

"Of course I will," Harry huffed. "Well, what are you waiting for? You have me at your mercy, so just get it over with."

"Oh no," Abernathy denied. "Make no mistake, you will die, but not until you have told me everything I want to know."

Harry snorted amusedly.

Although the situation he found himself in was disadvantageous in every way, he refused to cower to any, let alone the likes of Abernathy.

"I think you will come to see my way of thinking, Mr Jameson," the American chuckled before seizing him by the throat. "You see, you are going to die, and then I'm going to find that pretty little woman of yours. If you jerk me around, she will suffer unending pain and misery. Do not think for one moment that I am playing games with you. Her suffering depends on how helpful you are to me. Now, shall we start again?"

Harry shook his head.

"Amelia is more than safe from you," he replied with a shrug, "but if you want what I know, then why don't you come and get it? It's all in my head; you just have to take a little trip into my mind, and you will find it."

Abernathy flinched at the bloody grin Harry offered him and shook his head.

"Do you think me a fool?"

"I think you to be a complete wanker."

Abernathy struck him again, and Harry laughed at his effort.

"Come on, you must be able to do better than that," he goaded.

The man snarled angrily before drawing his wand.

"Your screams will be like music to my ears soon enough. You do not seem to understand the gravity of the situation."

"Oh, I understand well enough," Harry sighed, "but I think that's enough talking. Why don't you get on with trying to get what you want? I'm quite eager to see how you intend on doing it."

"CRUCIO!"

The pain of the curse tore through every fibre of his being, but once more, Harry had experienced worse. Voldemort's Cruciatus was several times more painful than what he was enduring now, though he was under no illusion that he could endure it indefinitely.

Just like Frank and Alice Longbottom, his mind would eventually break, but he refused to give Abernathy the satisfaction of screaming or giving in to him.

"How did you find out about us?" the man demanded to know when he finally relented.

"Your wife told me," Harry answered.

"CRUCIO!"

Again, the pain ripped through his body, and though he found it difficult to prevent it, not a sound passed his lips.

"Damn it, Jameson, answer the question!"

"I already did," Harry retorted breathlessly. "Your wife is quite lovely. It will be a shame to slit her throat whilst you plead for her life."

A heavy blow landed on his nose, and Harry felt the bones break from the force.

Still, it wasn't anything he'd not had to him done before, and he spat a mouthful of blood at Abernathy's feet before grinning at his captor.

"You know, you have quite an anger problem," he chided. "Come on, you must have more than that in you."

Once more, he found himself subjected to the Cruciatus curse, but it ended sooner than Harry had expected.

"ENOUGH!" Jean Delacour commanded. "I did not agree to this!"

"Shut up, Delacour!" Abernathy snarled. "This man is responsible for what happened to Laurent and the death of many good men. This is not time for you to lose your balls."

"Then arrest him and do things properly," Delacour urged.

Abernathy shook his head.

"It is not so simple," he grumbled. "Do not make this difficult for yourself, Delacour. In a matter of hours, I can make life quite terrible for you and the rest of your country. Now, be quiet whilst I…"

Abernathy broke off and looked towards Harry in confusion.

"W-what is happening?" Delacour asked worriedly.

Harry could feel it.

The potion he'd taken shortly before venturing here was beginning to wear off, and he grinned at the dumbfounded expressions of the two men.

"H-he got older," Abernathy whispered.

"I did," Harry chuckled darkly, "and you just broke the vow."

"I-I don't understand," Abernathy whispered, his eyes widening as Harry's gaze bore into his.

"You!" the American gasped.

Harry nodded, the grin he wore becoming quite sinister.

"Oh, the two of you are in trouble," he snorted.

Abernathy frowned.

"It doesn't matter," he said dismissively. "You're just delaying the inevitable, and I'm not angry that I finally get to kill you."

Harry shook his head disappointedly.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation."

Both Abernathy and Delacour looked nervous at the confidence he spoke with.

"What do you mean?" Delacour asked. "Who are you?"

"He's the Serpent," Abernathy said triumphantly.

"The Serpent?"

"The Serpent," Harry confirmed. "but I am the least of your worries. He is here."

"Who's here?"

As though his question was being answered by an unseen power, a loud alarm began blaring through the French Ministry of Magic, and the screaming soon followed.

"He is here," Harry repeated as Delacour and Abernathy looked to be rather terrified by the unexpected development.

(Break)

"What did you make of Delacour?" Evans asked.

"I'd trust him as far as I could throw him. He will sell me out the first chance he gets. He was there because Abernathy told him to be. I could see it in his eyes."

"Fucking French bastard," Evans huffed. "Well, what are we going to do about him?"

Harry shook his head.

"It would be easier to kill him."

Evans frowned before shaking his head.

"No, I have a better idea," he murmured. "It might just kill two birds with one stone."

"Is that a metaphor?"

"No, but it sounds somehow kinder than saying I'm going to slaughter the pair of the shits. I think we should beat them at their own game."

"You've got that look in your eyes," Harry sighed. "You've got a stupid idea that could get both of us killed."

"I have," Evans said unashamedly. "It will be worth it, and the risk will be mostly mine."

"And my house will not be blown up?"

"Not this time, Jameson."

"Then what is it?"

The plan had indeed been both reckless and stupid, and as Harry tore his way through the atrium of the French Ministry of Magic, cursing himself for agreeing to it in the first place, he knew that time was of the essence.

With just a few potions, Evans had become him.

The man knew exactly what would happen should they go ahead with the plan, but he'd not been deterred, and now, it was up to Harry to get his counterpart out of there by any means necessary.

"Bloody hell." he huffed as another group of Ministry workers spilled into the atrium to engage him.

Harry didn't think he'd ever fought so hastily, but as each person fell, he progressed ever closer to where Evans was being held.

Delacour's office would be well protected, but there wasn't a thing he'd allow to stand in his way.

Although Evans had been given strict instructions, it wasn't like the man to follow them.

Much like Harry, his counterpart was a law unto himself, but it was paramount that they stuck to the plan. All could be lost if they didn't.

Brandishing his wand like a whip, Harry caught it around the ankles, and with a little work, he was disarmed and dangling from the ceiling.

The man pleaded for help, but his situation could've been worse.

If Harry had not exercised a modicum of restraint, the Auror would be dead.

As easy as it would be to kill without prejudice, there was no need for so many to die today, not when the perfect opportunity to be rid of Abernathy had presented itself so perfectly.

He was the focus of this plan, and Harry would not lose sight of that. He just hoped Evans wouldn't either.

(Break)

"So, what's your idea?"

Harry frowned as he pondered the opportunity they'd been given and nodded to himself.

Although he didn't like his idea, it was the one most likely to work, even if it meant putting himself at considerable risk.

Still, it wasn't as though he hadn't faced such situations before, and in truth, he knew it would be worth it to see the smugness of Abernathy wiped off his face.

"I'm going to go in your place," he decided.

"You're going to go?"

"That's what I said."

"Why?"

"Because if Delacour is going to stab you in the back and try to hand you over to Abernathy, it is a chance for me to break the vow," Harry explained. "If Abernathy, or any of the others, cause me harm, I am relieved of the vow to that person. It helps that the penalty for them is quite hefty."

"What is the penalty?"

Harry grinned at the thought.

"You'll see," he said cryptically, "but I will need your help getting out of there. Do you think you can manage it?"

"From the French Ministry?"

Harry nodded, and Jameson snorted amusedly.

"I mean, it's going to get messy, but yes, I can manage it."

"Good," Harry declared. "And Jameson, I will need you to be quick. Delacour might just kill me before you get when it goes wrong for them."

"I'll be as quick as I can," Jameson assured him. "How do you want to play it?"

"Whatever you have to do."

Jameson nodded as a grin crested his lips.

"Done," he agreed. "Did you know that you are officially wanted in Britain now?"

"I didn't," Harry chuckled. "Well, it's one of the very few on the continent I haven't been. Do you think I might be able to complete the set?"

"You and me both, I expect."

Harry laughed as Abernathy began to scream.

He watched as the man fell to his knees, clutching his chest, and Delacour looked on in horror.

"What is happening?" the Frenchman demanded. "Abernathy, what is happening?"

"Karma," Harry chuckled. "Old Abernathy here is reaping what he has sown, and I expect the next several minutes will be quite miserable for him. Oh, and for you too, Delacour. I'd say his arrival is imminent, and I expect he is quite keen to talk to you."

Delacour looked uneasy as Abernathy began to scream, and though he tried the door to his office, it held fast.

With the protections in place and doing their utmost to keep the interim minister safe, he couldn't leave.

Harry simply remained bound to his chair, laughing at the two men as they faltered.

"You bastard!" Abernathy cursed, levelling his wand towards Harry once more. "Avada Kedavra!"

Nothing happened save for another bout of screaming from the American as he dropped his wand to clutch his abdomen.

"Oh dear," Harry sighed. "It seems as though you forgot the implications of the vow. Come on, Abernathy, you can't be that stupid."

The man had no response, and Harry chuckled to himself once more.

"You shall not be able to harm the man known as the Serpent either physically, with magic, or use of the Mind Arts. You shall not harm his wife, Eleanor. Should you attempt to do so, your magic will be forfeit. Do you remember now?"

Abernathy groaned, and it appeared that he heard nothing Harry had said.

It didn't surprise Harry.

He couldn't imagine that losing your magic in such a way would be anything less than an agonising experience.

"Ah, he's getting closer."

The disturbance within the Ministry was indeed growing nearer, and it was only a matter of moments before it seemed to be right outside the office door.

"Come on, gentlemen, are you really going to try to stop me?" Jameson's voice questioned.

Spellfire sounded along with a series of grunts and thuds as the bodies crashed to the ground or seemingly into the wall as a framed map of France was hurled across the room from the impact.

As quickly as it began, everything fell eerily silent until the sound of footsteps across broken glass could be heard.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Jameson was just doing it for dramatic effect, though he couldn't deny he wouldn't do the same.

"Evans, are you good?"

"I've been better," Harry called. "Get in here, you git."

By now, Delacour was cowering under his desk, and Abernathy was still where he had collapsed.

The door was opened forcefully, and the former of the men whimpered whilst the other continued to groan in agony.

"Well, this looks like quite the party. Did you know your nose is broken?" Jameson asked amusedly.

"STUPEFY!"

Jameson directed the spell back towards Delacour, who was unceremoniously sent sprawling across the floor.

"Why is it always a stunning spell?" Jameson sighed.

"Don't pretend it didn't used to be one of your favourites," Harry huffed. "Now, untie me!"

"Like it wasn't one of your favourites, too," James grumbled as he undid the bindings. "Would you like me to fix your nose?"

Harry nodded as he stood and found he needed to steady himself on the edge of the desk.

Whatever he'd been injected with was playing havoc in his body, but he would be able to purge it soon enough.

"Ow! Did you have to be so rough?"

Jameson shrugged.

"I'm fixing a broken bone, you cry baby, not tickling you with a feather. Shut up and secure Delacour whilst I have a little chat with our colonial cousin here. How are you, Abernathy?"

Harry winced as Jameson drove the heel of his boot into the American's groin, eliciting another groan of pain from the man.

"Come on, we are going to have ourselves quite the friendly chat before we leave," he declared. "Now, the more difficult you make this, the worse your death will be, so I suggest you play nice, you crooked bastard, or I will start by removing the tips of your fingers and dunking them in salt. Understood?"

"Fuck you, Jameson," Abernathy spat.

"Evans, he's not cooperating," Jameson sighed.

"Kick his balls into his throat. That usually works," he suggested. "What about this one? Shall we kill him?"

"Fleur," Jameson pointed out.

"Stuck-up cow," Harry muttered.

"Yes, but she shouldn't be without a father."

Harry nodded his agreement.

He'd always promised himself that he wouldn't become like Riddle, and he intended to stick to his word.

"Fine," he agreed. "I'll wipe his memory and send him home with a kick up the arse. I don't think he'll be keen on seeing us again. Come on, Delacour."

The Frenchman's eyes widened as he was revived, and Harry pulled him back to his feet.

"I have a wife and a daughter," he protested.

"We know," Harry assured him, "and that is the only reason we are letting you live. What he told you about Abernathy and the others is the complete truth. Laurent is not dead, and he has been in league with them for more than two decades. When we find him, which we will, I'll hand him over to you so you can question him yourself. For now, I suggest you make no attempt to come for us because if you do, it will be your entire family we come for. Don't make us do that, Mr Delacour."

He nodded shakily.

"Good," Harry sighed. "Now, go and tell the people that everything is under control. I suggest calling a press conference. We want to hear you broadcast it on the radio, yes?"

Delacour nodded, and Harry allowed him to leave, confident that he would comply without deviating from the instructions given to him.

"What about him?"

"He's coming with us," Jameson answered. "I think Mr Abernathy here has a lot of information to give us, don't you?"

"I think you're right," Harry agreed. "Up you get, Abernathy. We've not even started with you yet."

(Break)

Her trip to the Netherlands had proven to be as much a loss as her time in Portugal. Minister Visser was not quite as paranoid as Sousa, but he was careful and meticulous enough not to be caught off guard.

Cassiopeia didn't know how she would proceed, but she would find a way in.

Perhaps she would discuss it with Jameson and Evans when she saw them next.

For now, however, she needed to gather her thoughts and had decided to pay Gellert a visit.

With being in Portugal and the Netherlands, she'd not seen him for a number of days.

"Ah, Cassie, my dear, how are you?" the former Dark Lord asked as she reached his cell.

"As old and tired as ever," Cassiopeia sighed.

Gellert chuckled as he shook his head.

"You'll outlive us all yet," he assured her. "How was your venture to Portugal?"

"Not good, and neither was my time in the Netherlands. Both Ministers are paranoid after what happened to Fontaine and Espinosa."

Spain had finally announced the death of its Minister of Magic, and the country was in turmoil as the process to select his successor was underway.

"Well, I'm sure you will figure it out. You're not one to give up…"

Gellert broke off with a frown and peered over Cassiopeia's shoulder.

As she turned, she released a gasp as the sight of a man she'd not seen in more than two decades.

"Weber?" she questioned.

He'd aged nominally in the years gone by, but his eerily intelligent eyes had lost none of their spark.

"Miss Black," he greeted her cordially. "I have considered your request, Gellert, and I have decided I will assist them. I expect they will need it now with their latest success."

"Latest success?" Gellert pressed.

A slight, knowing smirk tugged at Weber's lips as he nodded and removed a small wireless from within his robes.

"The French Minister of Magic is due to make an announcement soon," he explained, "but I can tell you all you need to know. Jameson and the Serpent played quite the crafty trick. Abernathy is currently at their mercy, so he is not long for the world. Jameson took him from the French Ministry after the Serpent posed as him as a decoy. Mr Abernathy broke the vow and is now left without his magic."

Gellert choked in disbelief.

"IS that true?" he demanded.

"As true as I am German," Weber assured him.

There was a moment of silence whilst they processed the news before Gellert unleashed a bark of laughter.

"It couldn't happen to a nicer man," he said gleefully.

Cassiopeia was in a state of shock.

She had thought that Abernathy would be the most difficult to catch out, but once again, Evans and Jameson had proven their admittedly brilliant cunning.

"So, what now?" Gellert asked.

"Now Abernathy will be forced to reveal what he knows, and the others will scurry like rats."

"And you will help Jameson and Evans find them."

"I will," Weber confirmed. "I think starting with the missing Monsieur Laurent will be a good start. I will return here within a week with what information I can pass on."

"Do you think you can find him?" Cassiopeia asked.

"Without a shred of doubt."