Written in the Stars - Poetic Justice

Poetic Justice

Everything faded to grey and Harry thought that something had gone amiss as he accepted the final Hallow from Dumbledore. At first, he felt nothing, but then the familiar cold magic he had grown accustomed to from the wand and cloak washed over him.

Only this time, it was much stronger than he had experienced before.

Even if he wished to, he knew he couldn’t move, and as the coldness seeped into his very soul, he felt it, an even colder presence.

It probed at him from within, prodding at his magic, his mind, and even his body.

In this moment, nothing was sacred as whatever it was that come to him read every part of his being as though he was a carelessly left open book.

‘Peverell,’ a raspy voice whispered.

Harry had known fear throughout his life.

Mingled with his desire for retribution against Voldemort, he could not deny the presence of fear he felt when he relived the memory of his mother’s demise, nor when he had been forced to bear witness to the atrocities the man had committed.

Now, however, Tom Riddle felt like nothing more than a gentle summer breeze compared to the winter storm of the being that plagued him now.

Much to Harry’s relief, the presence left his body and he shuddered as the shadows emerged from within the wand he clutched.

Only a moment later, a thestral and a large, faceless, cloaked figure stood before him, both still judging him from afar.

‘Peverell,’ the voice whispered again. ‘I see that you have brought all three of my gifts together. I suspected one day it would happen. Fate and I have something of an understanding. She has a need of you, and it seems that I am to be a pawn in her ploy.’

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent.

‘Yes, she has chosen well,’ the cloaked figure mused aloud. ‘When your ancestors summoned me, it was my intention to simply relieve them of their souls for the deed, but something stilled me. As I speak with you now, another spoke with me then, and urged me to grant their request. Curious, I complied. Only one of the Peverells proved to be wise enough to live a full life after meeting with me. The others perished so soon after, and yet, my relics continued on, passing from hand to hand throughout the years. Yours, however, remained with the blood it was granted to.’

‘The cloak,’ Harry whispered.

The figure nodded.

‘Their souls for my gifts,’ it declared. ‘That was my price, and two of them were claimed quickly. The wise and cunning brother proved such wisdom and guile with his choice of bestowment. The strong and determined perished of his own hubris, and the adaptable and loyal chose to join me of his own volition when his did not work as he wished.’

Harry nodded his understanding.

He was familiar with the tale of the Peverell brothers.

‘Now, what are you, Harry Potter?’ the figure asked, and waited for a response.

Harry swallowed deeply as he pondered an answer.

‘I am none of them, but all at the same time.’

The words spilled from his lips as they crossed his mind, and he hoped he hadn’t spoken foolishly out of turn.

He could almost feel the figure’s smile.

‘Wise words cunningly spoken but with humility,’ it replied amusedly. ‘Yes, the trials and tribulations you have faced has shaped you into what you are, but does it make you worthy to wield my gifts as one? You must possess the best of all three brothers, and so much more. Do you believe you are indeed worthy?’

‘Is that not for you to decide?’

‘In time,’ the figure answered cryptically. ‘Should you prove yourself better than those I first gifted the Hallows to, then they are yours by right.’

‘How do I prove myself?’ Harry asked.

‘By being all that you can,’ the figure answered simply. ‘You now wield a great power, and it is what you do with it that will determine your worth to keep it. For now, your life is very much in the balance of Fate and your chosen actions. Should you succeed in fulfilling her desires, then your worthiness will be determined. Your life may be a long one indeed, or it could be ended at any given moment until Fate’s needs have been met. For now, the Hallows are yours. Earn their loyalty, and if your time here is to end, I shall greet you the same way the wise brother greeted me when he had grown tired of hiding from me.’

With that, the figure and the thestral offered Harry a bow before they returned to the elder wand.

The coldness had remained with him, though it was not uncomfortable.

If anything, it felt as though it belonged, and he quickly grew used to the weight of the magic he carried.

He had yet to take time to test the Hallows since he’d united them, but it was at the very top of his list of priorities, amongst other things he needed to attend to.

“Tonight,” he decided aloud.

A part of him was cautious when it came to the objects, but he knew he was perhaps being too careful.

If the figure wanted him dead, Harry had no doubt it would have simply taken his soul when he had brought the Hallows together.

No, something told him the figure was intrigued and somewhat rooting for his success.

He didn’t know why, and that was a question he would not ponder.

He already had enough to consider and adding that to the mix would only induce a headache.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts as a knock sounded at the door to his room.

For several days now, he had pondered the vision, and felt that he was no closer to understanding the conversation he’d shared with the ominous figure.

“Death,” he murmured. “Come in.”

It was Lucinda that peered around the door.

“Your Aunt wanted me to tell you that she will be arranging the backlogs of trials soon,” she informed him. “I think she said she would be doing the Umbridge woman first, and then Pettigrew.”

Harry nodded his understanding as he frowned.

“Have I done something to upset you?” he asked as the vampire began to withdraw.

Lucinda shook her head, but Harry was not convinced and he offered her a pointed look.

She huffed lightly.

“No,” she answered. “It’s just that it feels like we haven’t spent any time together recently, and…”

Lucinda broke off with a shrug.

“And?” Harry pressed.

“Well, I don’t know,” Lucinda sighed. “It’s been like that since I started guarding Cassiopeia, and now you’ve invited the other girl here…”

“Pansy?” Harry snorted.

Lucinda scowled at him.

“Are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

A smirk tugged at Harry’s lips.

With everything that had been happening, he’d all but forgotten how possessive vampires could be.

“Pansy was my first friend, long before I met any of you,” he reminded Lucinda. “No one has anything to be Jealous of.”

Lucinda nodded uncertainly, and Harry chuckled as he made his way towards her.

Pulling her into the room, he wrapped his arms around her and she shuddered.

“Your magic feels different again,” she murmured.

“I know,” he acknowledged. “It’s a long story. We can talk about it later.”

“Ah, so you’re going to make some time for me?” Lucinda returned.

“I might.”

“There is no might about it,” she replied simply. “It turns out that I don’t do well being neglected.”

“Neglected?”

Lucinda nodded.

“You’d better fix that, Potter.”

Harry laughed heartily.

“Yes, Princess,” he assured her. “Still jealous?”

“I’m not jealous!”

“Liar!”

Lucinda scowled at him again.

“Maybe I see her as a threat,” she admitted.

Harry shook his head.

“Pansy is my friend, nothing more, just like Ana and Eleanor.”

Lucinda hummed.

She had been this way since Harry had finally received a response from Pansy a few days prior.

Having hurriedly left the Wizengamot meeting after casting the deciding vote for Cassie, Julius has collected Pansy from Hogwarts, and the entire family had gone into hiding before Harry had been able to reach out to them.

Not that he blamed them.

Voldemort would undoubtedly be baying for his blood.

Still, he had not given up hope on making contact, and Pansy had finally replied to one of his patronus messages via a letter.

Julius had even agreed to allow her a visit for a few days, under the condition that she remained in Grimmauld Place for the duration.

It was a caveat Harry was willing to adhere to so that he could see his friend once more, but he had not expected the reaction he’d seen from Lucinda and he couldn’t help but wonder if the two would get along.

If truth be told, he was a little concerned, but he was hopeful, that at worst, they would at least be respectful to one another for his sake.

“I should get back to Cassiopeia,” Lucinda murmured against his chest, “but I will be holding you to your word. You will make some time for me.”

The was no compromising with a stubborn vampire, though it wasn’t like Harry wished to.

He’d missed his time with Lucinda, and he realised that he had perhaps not made much of it for any of his friends over the past week.

He’d been so absorbed in the Hallows that each day had merely bled into the next.

“I will,” he reiterated, moving to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

Lucinda turned her cheek towards him instead.

“I’m not so easy, Potter,” she said airily, smirking at him before leaving the room.

Harry frowned at the vampire, but returned the gesture, nonetheless.

“Game on,” he murmured amusedly.

(Break)

Narcissa swallowed deeply as she read the headline of The Daily Prophet, her gaze shifting across the breakfast table to her son and husband in turn. Draco had returned from school unexpectedly the night of the Hogsmeade attack, and Narcissa believed he had done so for that very reason.

She wanted to believe that he had nothing to do with what he was being accused of, but in her heart of hearts, she had no doubt that he was responsible.

Malfoy Heir Wanted in Connection With Disappearance of Hogwarts Professor!

By Rita Skeeter

Scanning the article, she braced herself for the backlash as she cleared her throat.

“Draco?” she called.

Her son looked up from his plate of eggs and bacon irritably, and Narcissa saw in him the same thing she saw in Lucius; the glint of cruelty that forever reminded her of the atrocities her husband had committed during the last war, and likely this one too.

“Who is Professor Trelawney?”

Draco’s eyes widened just enough that Narcissa could determine his guilt in the matter without further probing.

“Why?” he asked simply, looking towards a frowning Lucius.

“Well, it says here that you are wanted for her disappearance,” Narcissa revealed, placing the newspaper on the table.

Draco choked on the piece of toast he had been chewing and he once more looked towards Lucius, though this time, it was with an expression of concern.

“I didn’t do it!” he denied forcefully.

Narcissa did not believe him.

She knew her son well enough to know when he was lying, despite Bella’s best efforts to teach him occlumency.

Narcissa merely hummed in response.

Perhaps she should have been grateful for the arrival of the elf that distracted Lucius from the inevitable vitriol he was going to spew, but part of her wanted to hear the excuse concocted by her husband.

However, he was immediately distracted by the contents of the note he was given.

“Damn!” he cursed, slamming his fist atop the table. “Damn!”

“What is it, Father?” Draco asked.

Lucius had paled and dragged his hand through his hair before standing.

“Your blasted Aunt has decided to begin holding trials,” he snapped at Narcissa. “Umbridge is first, and then Pettigrew! Why could the fool not avoid being captured.”

Narcissa immediately understood the implications.

Her Aunt Cassie would not hesitate in feeding the man Veritaserum and milking him for every bit of information she could. That meant that Lucius, and just about every political ally he had, would soon find themselves on the wrong side of the law, and thus, just as wanted as her son.

With both male Malfoys in such a position, there would be none to effectively run the family affairs.

Worse yet, with the recent law Cassie had enacted, she would come for the family fortune.

This was not good for any of them.

“I must speak with him on this matter,” Lucius murmured as he swept from the room.

“What is going to happen, Mother?” Draco questioned worriedly.

Narcissa released a deep sigh.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

(Break)

Ana opened her door to be greeted by the sight of Harry.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she assured, gesturing for him to enter. “I’m just having one of those days.”

“One of those days?”

“I’m just missing home,” Ana said with a shrug. “You know, I always used to wonder what the world outside the forest was like…”

“It’s not what you imagined?”

Ana shook her head as a smirk crested her lips.

“No. I can’t say I like it much.”

Harry chuckled as he wrapped an arm around her.

“You can leave anytime you wish.”

“I know, but this is where I am meant to be,” Ana replied. “I have to make sure you don’t get yourself killed, but I know now where I will be when this is all over. Living amongst humans is something I thought a lot about, but it isn’t for me. The trees are my home, and I know that now.”

Harry offered her a bright smile.

“Well, so long as you visit me from time to time, I have no problem with that.”

“You’ll be able to come to me too,” Ana pointed out. “Illarion liked you, so he would have no problem with it.”

“I would like that,” Harry said sincerely.

The two fell silent for a moment before Ana laughed to herself.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” the half-elf said dismissively. “I just thought that maybe one day you and me… well, you know. Don’t act so surprised,” she added at Harry’s expression of shock. “Haven’t you thought…?”

Harry frowned before he nodded.

“I have,” he admitted sheepishly. “You’re beautiful, smart, and interesting. It just never became a thing between us.”

“Because we are too different,” Ana returned with a smile. “I belong with the elves, and you here, making the horrible world I’ve seen a better place. You couldn’t live in the forest, and I could never live here.”

“I could live in the forest,” Harry protested.

Ana shook her head.

“No, you couldn’t,” Ana corrected. “It is nothing like it is here. You would grow bored, and when you are bored, you do silly things like fight basilisks.”

Harry grimaced at the mention of the snake.

“You do have a point,” he conceded.

Ana grinned smugly.

“I know you too well, Harry Potter, and even though I will sometimes wonder what could have been, I am happy that you were the first human friend I made. If it had been anyone else, they would have disillusioned me to this world long before I saw it for myself.”

It was merely the truth she spoke.

Perhaps she would always carry a candle for Harry in some form, but their friendship and both of them being happy meant far too much to her than to even consider anything that could destroy what they have.

Harry was her first human friend, and maybe she would never look at him in only a platonic way, but for Ana that was fine.

She valued his friendship more than she would only a fleeting moment with him.

“What is it you wanted anyway?” she asked curiously.

“Well, I did come to ask for your help with something soon. I need an extra pair of eyes whilst I do something potentially dangerous. I did not expect to get my heart broken along the way.”

Ana swatted his shoulder playfully.

“Stop being dramatic.”

“Ouch!” Harry groaned.

Ana rolled her eyes at him.

“That didn’t hurt.”

“I meant my heart.”

Ana huffed, raising a brow at his petulant expression.

For all the growing up he’d had to do, he was still the same mischievous boy she had met the first day she had boarded the Durmstrang ship.

“Fine, what can I do for you?” she sighed.

He positively beamed at her, and Ana shook her head.

That smile always meant trouble for someone.

(Break)

“So, the old fool will leave?”

“It seems so, My Lord,” Severus replied with a bow.

Voldemort nodded.

“It is a shame, but I have already proven my superiority over him,” he mused aloud. “No, it is Potter that is the problem. I have watched the memory of our confrontation several times now, Severus. The boy is much better than one of his age has any right to be, but I could not help but notice his injury. Was the wound caused by Greyback?”

“That is what I have learned,” Severus answered.

“Then it is likely he has been infected with Lycanthropy,” Voldemort murmured to himself. “It will leave him severely weakened as the full moon approaches.”

Severus’s expression gave nothing away, and the Dark Lord shifted his attention to the door when it opened without the visitor announcing themselves.

“We have a problem, My Lord,” Lucius informed him, offering a letter he had evidently just received.

Voldemort frowned.

“Wormtail is a damned fool!” he declared irritably.

“And if he is interrogated publicly, he will tell them everything he knows.”

That would not do.

In recent years especially, the man had been made privy to too much damaging information.

Pondering the issue for several moments, the Dark Lord nodded to himself.

“He must not be allowed to take the stand.”

“My Lord, we do not know where he is being kept,” Lucius explained. “It is unlikely he will be seen until he is brought to trial.”

Voldemort’s snake-like nostrils flared.

“Severus?” he queried.

The Potions Master shook his head.

“I do not know where he is being kept by Potter.”

The Dark Lord scrutinised the man carefully, but as ever, Severus gave nothing away.

He was a master occlumens, something he both admired and despised him for.

There was never any certainty of how truthful he was being.

“Very well, but something must be done,” Voldemort declared. “No matter what, he must not be allowed to take the stand.”

“What would you have me do, My Lord?” Lucius asked cautiously.

“Kill him the moment you lay eyes on him,” Voldemort commanded. “If he speaks, he will give your position away, regardless. I would see him dead without spilling our secrets.”

Lucius had paled, and the Dark Lord could almost see his mind working vigorously so that he would not need to reveal himself as a Death Easter in the process.

As difficult as Severus was to read, Lucius’s loyalty was fickle at best, changing for whatever purpose suited him.

That would no longer be so.

If he wavered now, he would not live to enjoy the fruits of their efforts.

Of that, Lord Voldemort was certain.

“O-of course, My Lord,” the man replied obediently before all but fleeing from the room.

The Dark Lord watched him go through narrowed eyes.

Lucius found himself in an unwinnable position but complying would be in his best interest.

He would see that for himself soon enough, or he would die for his failure.

Once too many times the Dark Lord had granted Malfoy forgiveness. Now, there was none left to give.

“What would you have me do, My Lord?” Severus broke into this thoughts.

“Continue as you are. If I have further need of you, I will send a summons.”

With a bow, Severus left the room, and Voldemort walked towards where Nagini was curled up by the fire.

Stroking her scales on the top of her head, his jaw clenched at how badly things had gone recently.

His fortune needed to change, and soon.

“Power he knows not,” he muttered to himself, eliciting a comforting hiss from his companion.

(Break)

“Dolores Jane Umbridge, you stand accused of creating an unlawful militia, using said militia to carry out unlawful arrests and imprisonment, and misappropriation of Ministry funds and resources. How do you plead?” Cassiopeia questioned.

The weeks in Azkaban had not been kind to Umbridge.

She no longer appeared so smug, her now stringy hair was flecked with grey, and she had lost a considerable amount of weight.

As far as Harry was concerned, she deserved every second of misery she’d endured.

“I want to speak with Cornelius!” the woman croaked.

“Fudge is dead,” Cassiopeia informed her bluntly.

“You killed him!” Umbridge hissed. “I knew this would happen. The moment Potter arrived…”

“SILENCE!” Cassiopeia snapped. “Fudge was murdered on the Dark Lord’s orders. Now, how do you plead to the charges against you?”

Umbridge’s lower lip trembled but she somehow found it within herself to stand somewhat proudly.

“Not guilty!” she declared. “I only did what was asked of me.”

“Very well,” Cassiopeia sighed. “I have already provided you all with copies of the evidence; the arrest orders, the sentences Madam Umbridge illegally signed off, and various other documents. Do any among you believe she has a case for dismissal?” she asked the members of the Wizengamot.

None spoke in Umbridge’s defence.

Harry had glanced over the evidence himself, and though he was certainly no expert in lawful matters, Amelia Bones had done an exceptional job in proving Umbridge’s guilt.

The woman did not have a leg to stand on, and her fate now depended on how harsh Cassiopeia would sentence her.

“All those in finding Dolores Umbridge not guilty?” she prompted.

Not a single wand was shown, not even by the rather subdued Lucius Malfoy who Umbridge look towards for support.

“Those that find her guilty?” Cassie prompted again.

Only a few people abstained, and Umbridge wailed pathetically at the verdict.

It took a calming drought and a silencing charm to still her enough so that she could receive her sentence, and Cassiopeia read through the notes once more before clearing her throat.

“In light of the charges, and despite believing you were simply carrying out orders, a woman of your experience would have known better. There is no doubt in my mind that you were fully aware of the illegality of what you did, and still, you took it upon yourself to imprison citizens of magical Britain that you had no right in deciding their fate. You are fortunate that they were released before permanent damage was caused.”

Umbridge merely nodded in response.

“Nonetheless, what you did is despicable, and not how the Ministry of Magic should conduct itself, and for that reason, I am given no choice but to sentence you to fifteen years in Azkaban. Aurors, take her away!”

Umbridge screamed in silence as she was dragged out of the courtroom, and Cassiopeia filled out the necessary forms before handing them to Amelia Bones.

Umbridge had only been imprisoned for weeks and was half-dead already.

Harry was not confident she would last a year before perishing within the walls of Azkaban.

With the paperwork complete, Cassie rubbed her eyes tiredly.

“We will reconvene tomorrow,” she announced.

At her declaration, Dumbledore tapped his podium with his gavel, dismissing the room which emptied quickly.

A part of Harry was frustrated that he would have to wait for Pettigrew to get what he deserved, but it was late in the day now, and he would rather that they had a full one so that he could enjoy watching Wormtail squirm for the duration.

He would have to wait another night, however, in the meantime, he had one other thing he could attend to.

(Break)

“Are you sure you feel well enough for this?” Eleanor asked. “We don’t even know what Harry wants us to do yet.”

Cain nodded.

“I’m fine,” he assured the her.

She had barely left his side since he had returned from the continent and had been fussing over him at just about every moment of the day.

It was not unusual for Cain to wake up in the morning and find her sleeping next to him. He found it rather strange but not unwelcoming.

“I’m just worried,” Eleanor sighed. “You’ve only been on your feet for a couple of days now. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“This is a war we are involved in,” Cain reminded her. “I could get hurt or killed any day.”

“Don’t say that,” Eleanor whispered. “I thought you were going to die when I saw the state of you after Harry brought you back.”

“But I didn’t,” Cain pointed out.

“But you could have.”

Cain shook his head amusedly.

He wouldn’t win a battle of wills with the blonde. As playful and carefree as she was for the most part, her stubbornness was on par with both Harry and Lucinda.

Cain wasn’t sure what was happening between the two of them. He didn’t even understand why Summerbee had suddenly become so attached him.

He remembered mocking Harry for being so clueless about girls, but it turned out that he was no more knowledgeable on the subject.

“I can’t stay in bed forever,” he snorted. “I’m fine. My leg is healed.”

To reiterate his point, he jumped up and down on the spot.

Still, Eleanor was not convinced, but a grin tugged at her lips.

“So, you won’t need me to look after you anymore,” she said airily.

“Wait, I didn’t say that!”

“No, if you’re feeling better now, why should I sacrifice my comfortable bed to be watching over you?”

Cain frowned at the question.

She made a good point, but he could not shake the disappointment at the thought of her not being there when he woke up.

“Maybe I like you watching over me,” he replied shyly.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is that so?”

Cain nodded.

He had grown used to her company, and in truth, he didn’t want her to stop spending time with him.

He swallowed deeply as he shook his head of the thought.

“No, you’re right,” he murmured. “If I’m feeling better, there’s no need for you to look out for me.”

Eleanor was visibly confused by his words.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

She seemed upset, and Cain immediately felt guilty.

He may not be so experienced with the opposite sex, but he could see what this was.

“I’m a werewolf,” he said simply.

“And I am a disgraced pureblood,” Eleanor returned.

“I’m a dangerous creature! I almost killed Harry, Jonas, and Bruno.”

“My name is mud in just about every country in Europe,” Eleanor fired back. “Are we trying to one-up each other, or is there a point to this?”

Cain released a deep breath.

“Is there?” he asked.

“There could be,” Eleanor said gently. “I know what you are, and I’ve seen how much you struggle with it. Is it so bad that I want to be there for you? Do you think so little of yourself that you think you don’t deserve someone caring about you?”

Cain could only shrug in response.

He had grown up being told to mistrust any outside of the pack, that he would be universally hated for what he was, and yet, his beliefs had been disproved by Eleanor, Harry, and the rest of his friends.

Even Lucinda, who should be his mortal enemy, had come to check on him several times over the past week.

“Being a werewolf is a big part of who you are,” Eleanor spoke, pulling him from his thoughts, “but you are the sweetest, kindest, and bravest person I have ever met. You can be just as stupid as Harry, but everything you do comes from a good place. If you think that you do not deserve someone to care for you, then I don’t know what to say. You’re a werewolf, but that’s not everything you are.”

Cain took a moment to let her words sink in before he chuckled to himself.

“How is it that you have a way of making everything seem so simple?”

“Because it is,” Eleanor replied with a shrug. “You just have a way of making everything seem complicated.”

She offered him an impish smile and Cain could only shake his head.

“Why do I see a tonne of headaches coming my way,” he murmured.

“Because that is what you will get if you keep being, as Harry would say, a stupid prat. Come on, we have to meet the rest of them in the basement,” Eleanor urged, leading him from the room by his hand.

She didn’t release her hold on him, and Cain did not attempt to free himself.

He quite liked having someone to care about him like this.

It was strange, but certainly not unwanted.

(Break)

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Harry asked as he and Lucinda broke away from their kiss.

“For now,” she replied, “but can you not get injured this time?” she added irritably.

Harry shrugged.

“Shit happens,” he said with a grin.

Lucinda rolled her eyes at him before pulling Harry into her arms.

“Just be careful, you idiot. You have no idea what’s in there.”

Harry conceded the point with a nod.

“I will be,” he promised, lighting the tip of his wand and pointing it to the building that Cain was perched upon.

He received a signal in response and snorted.

‘Why do I have to be on the roof? I don’t like heights!’

Harry hadn’t known that had been Cain’s fear, but he’d sent him up there anyway.

Eleanor, Jonas, and Ana were the least known to any potential Death Eaters or Greyback’s former pack that may have still made the journey here, so it made sense to keep the werewolf out of sight.

Lucinda had become rather well known over the past week; her picture having appeared in The Daily Prophet as Cassie’s shadow. She would be remaining in the alleyway they were currently in to give Harry his signal.

“Alright, time to go,” Harry declared, disappearing within his cloak before crossing the width of Knockturn Alley.

Releasing a steadying breath, he waited until the door to the establishment was opened and slipped inside.

There was nothing to give away what kind of business this was, but he raised an eyebrow as the cloaked figure he’d followed in spoke in a mumbled tone.

“I’m here to see Olivia,” he growled.

“Of course, Sir,” the scantily clad lady behind the counter replied with a toothy smile. “She is waiting for you in room seventeen.”

So, it was that kind of place.

Harry shook his head.

Evidently, Lord Nott was unsatisfied enough with his marriage to risk coming here on a weekly basis.

Still, if there was a minimum of seventeen rooms here, it made his task much more difficult.

What room would the man be shown to?

No, he could not risk anything going amiss now, and with that in mind, he dropped his cloak and cast a silencing charm on the woman before the scream left her lips.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

The trembling woman nodded.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he assured her, “but you have a client that comes in every Thursday evening.”

The woman’s expression became fearful and she shook her head frantically.

“I have seen him come and go several times,” Harry sighed. “You know who I mean, don’t you?”

She swallowed deeply, her gaze flitting towards the door before she nodded.

“You don’t like him very much, do you?”

He received a reluctant shake of her head in response.

“Has he hurt you?”

Another shake of the head.

“Has he hurt someone else?”

The woman swallowed deeply before nodding and Harry released a deep breath.

“I have come to get rid of him,” he explained. “If you help me, you will never have to see him again.”

The woman began speaking, though no words left her lips and Harry held up a hand.

“If I allow you to speak, will you scream?”

She shook her head, and Harry ended the spell, ready to cast it immediately if she did not keep her promise.

“I cannot help you,” she whispered, her accent thick, foreign, and one unfamiliar to Harry. “He will kill me.”

“He will never know,” Harry assured her.

The woman fell silent for several moments.

“Could you help me go home?” she pleaded. “Me and Anya.”

“Who is Anya?”

“She is my friend,” the woman answered. “She is the one he comes to see.”

“He hurts her,” Harry deduced.

“Yes,” the woman choked. “Come, I will show you.”

Cautiously, Harry followed the hostess through the door behind the counter where he was greeted by the sight of a much longer corridor than should be possible.

There were dozens of doors, and he was glad he’d decided to follow his instincts and engage the woman.

It was to room fifty-seven that she led him and paused for a moment before knocking on the door.

“Anya?” she whispered before pushing it open.

Harry had never seen such a broken person as he entered the room.

Anya was perched on the end of the bed, dressed in only her underwear, and her dull, almost lifeless eyes staring at the blank wall opposite.

Harry immediately felt his anger grow as he took note of the many scars that littered her body, so many that it made his own seem little more than cat scratches in comparison.

Anya’s eyes did not shift as she began to sob and mumble in a foreign tongue.

The hostess immediately went to her and began whispering comfortingly.

Harry did not recognise the language they spoke, but his name was unmistakeable, and at the mention of it, Anya looked up at him in surprise.

“Harry Potter?” she asked almost hopefully.

Harry nodded and Anya began to sob once more.

“Even in here, people talk about you,” the hostess explained. “You fight against him when no one else will.”

“Someone has to,” Harry sighed. “Will you let me help you both?”

The hostess whispered to Anya who nodded somewhat excitedly; the prospect of freedom from this place proving to be overwhelming as she began crying once more.

“We would like to go home, Harry Potter,” the hostess reiterated.

“Where is home?”

“We are from Slovakia,” the hostess explained. “We were taken from there by the other English man.”

“Other English man?” Harry probed.

“Mr Macnair.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the man, and he moved Macnair up his list of priorities to handle several places closer to the top.

“Well, Mr Macnair will be dealt with also,” he replied, “but Mr Nott is first. Is there somewhere safe you can hide Anya?”

The hostess nodded.

“There is a spare room.”

“Good, take her there, and when Nott is dealt with, I will get you out of here,” he promised. “How many other girls are here?”

“Fifty-nine.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry grumbled. “I will do what I can,” he added, already making a note to inform Cassie of this place. The Aurors would be here by the morning. “Okay, go.”

The two women rushed from the room, and Harry set to work, first by sending a signal to Lucinda to let her know he was in place.

Casting several charms and other spells to ensure Nott would be unable to escape, he covered himself with his cloak once more, basking in the coldness of the magic whilst he waited.

It was close to an hour later that his wand vibrated in his hand, letting him know that Nott would be arriving soon, and Harry braced himself for several moments until the door opened.

“You can’t hide from me, girl,” Nott chuckled as he began undressing, drawing a large knife from within his discarded robes. “Come out and play. I promise not to hurt you too much.”

Harry’s jaw clenched as the man peered under the bed.

“Stop fucking around!” Nott demanded angrily as he stood, frowning as the lock to the door clicked.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, Harry cast a severing charm that removed the hand carrying his wand, and both clattered to the floor.

Nott screamed, though no one would hear it through the silencing charm.

Removing his cloak, the man’s eyes widened at sight of Harry who rammed his fists into Nott’s jaw.

He landed next to his hand with a dull thud, and Harry was on him before he could regain his senses.

He had not planned on pummelling the Death Eater, but he did it, nonetheless, until his hands were swollen, bleeding, and covered in Nott’s own blood.

“No, we can’t let you die so easily,” he murmured, noticing the man’s stump was leaking profusely.

With a murmured spell, the aroma of burnt flesh filled the room, and the unconscious Nott awoke with another scream.

“Now, since you like to get your kicks from hurting women, let’s give you a taste of your own medicine, shall we?” Harry asked as he retrieved the knife Nott had brought with him.

(Break)

“What is the power I know not?” the Dark Lord hissed furiously.

It was the one thing that now consumed him, and yet, he was no closer to an answer than when he’d first heard the prophecy.

“What is it?” Voldemort snapped as someone knocked frantically on the door.

“My Lord,” Rabastan greeted him breathlessly. “I really think you should see this.”

With a frown, the Dark Lord followed the man through the corridors of Malfoy Manor into the room his Death Eaters would arrive in to attend their meetings.

In front of the fireplace was a corpse, one that had been subjected to some rather unpleasant treatment in the final moments of their life.

“As much as I admire your skill, Rabastan, I would rather you did not disturb me to show your work.”

“This isn’t my work, My Lord,” Rabastan returned. “Look closer.”

Voldemort frowned as he did so, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the Dark Mark burnt into the flesh of the left forearm.

“Who is it?” he asked.

Rabastan swallowed deeply as he picked up the severed hand.

“It’s Nott, My Lord,” he revealed, pointing to the family ring the man always sported. “There’s a note.”

Voldemort accepted the bloodied parchment, his anger growing as he read the short missive.

One down, and another will follow soon enough…

HP

The Dark Lord’s nostrils flared as he surveyed Nott’s injuries.

He already knew that facing Potter was nothing like Dumbledore or his foolish Order, but for the young man to murder another in such a way was admittedly alarming.

If there had been any doubt to how far his foe was willing to go in the pursuit of victory, there no longer was.

Harry Potter had proven his ruthlessness, and there was a part of the Dark Lord that admired him, yet, he could not ignore the twinge of concern he felt.

“Another will follow soon,” he muttered to himself. “Rabastan, tell the others to be on alert. It would not do for them to be caught unaware.”

The man nodded.

“What about Nott, My Lord?”

“What about him?” Voldemort replied, reducing the man’s remains to little more than a pile of ashes. “Nott is dead,” he added simply before sweeping from the room.

On the surface, he was calm, but within, his fury burned almost painfully.

Potter would pay for his transgressions soon enough.

Still, he could not ignore the undercurrent of concern that had set in at the sight of Nott’s mutilated corpse.