Written in the Stars - The Department of Mysteries

The Department of Mysteries

Although he could feel his thoughts becoming clearer and his body feeling less sluggish with each passing moment, Harry knew that he was in a tight spot. He was heavily outnumbered, still weakened by whatever had been done to him, and seemingly at the mercy of the Death Eaters.

The one advantage he did have was that Malfoy and his cohorts believed him to be under the influence of the Imperius Curse and able to offer no resistance without his wand.

Harry had to stop himself from smirking as he realised that whoever had disarmed him had not thought to check for any other weapon.

The Elder Wand was still up his other sleeve, something he took much comfort in.

Still, the odds were certainly stacked against him, and as he was led through the Hall of Prophecies, he continued to ponder how he could both turn the situation to his advantage and escape with his life.

“The greatest threat to the Dark Lord,” a woman snickered.

“Do not let his youth fool you, Bellatrix,” Lucius warned. “There is more to Potter than meets the eye. Why do you think our Lord insisted he be incapacitated before he was brought to us.”

“He is a boy!” Bellatrix protested.

Harry’s jaw clenched.

He had been warned by many about Bellatrix Lestrange. She had become quite deranged before Azkaban, and Harry doubted years with the Dementors had done much good for her sanity.

“A boy who survived the odds when he should have perished,” Lucius reminded her. “Barty warned our master that Potter is beyond the norm with a wand.”

“He does not have a wand,” Bellatrix reminded him.

“And for that, we should be grateful,” Lucius murmured. “Ah, here we are. Come along, Potter, fetch the prophecy and hand it to me. Remember,” he added to the other Death Eaters, “we are to do this without drawing attention to ourselves. We get the prophecy and we leave.”

Bellatrix muttered something Harry could not hear, but he was cheering internally.

If they wished to complete their task without drawing attention to themselves, they would be sorely disappointed.

Without a word, Harry approached the shelf Malfoy was pointing at and gazed upon the attached label.

S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D

Dark Lord and

(?)

Harry Potter

Harry did not know what the question mark represented, nor did he have time to think about it.

“Give it to me, Potter!” Lucius commanded forcefully.

Swallowing deeply, Harry reached for the orb, relief flooding him as he felt the ease with which his limb moved.

All that remained was to continue the façade of being under the effects of the curse when in reality, the only struggle Harry was enduring was whatever the primal magic was that he felt surging through him.

He could not be certain if it was part of the basilisk magic that had become part of his own, or even the thunderbird.

Perhaps it was both?

Regardless, it was raw, and burned within him as he fought to keep it at bay until an opportune moment.

It was as though the Death Eaters were watching him with bated breath as his hand closed over the orb and Harry knew then just how badly they wished to obtain it.

They would be taking the prophecy to Voldemort over his dead body, which was very much a possibility, after all.

One thing Harry knew for certain was that he would not be handing it to them.

He needed to hear it for himself.

“Good, now give it to me,” Lucius whispered.

Harry turned towards the man and extended his arm, only to pause as he could no longer hold back the grin he had been fighting.

“You lot and Voldemort can go and fuck yourselves.”

The split second of shock that froze the Death Eaters in place was all Harry needed to slide the Elder Wand into his hand and spring into action.

A loud explosion rent the air as he unleashed his chosen spell, and the shelves either side of him collapsed inwards.

He didn’t know if or how many of the cloaked figures he had managed to hurt, but what he did know was that he needed to get out of there.

The one drawback he had not considered was just how he would do that.

Where was the exit?

Not wanting to waste time, Harry ran in the opposite direction to the destruction he had caused, making it only a dozen or so feet before the spells and shouting began to follow.

Evidently, he had not taken out as many of the Death Eaters as he had hoped.

“DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY!” Malfoy roared.

Harry pocketed the prophecy as he rounded the first corner, reading the sign perched on one of the shelves.

“Row ninety-seven,” he groaned to himself, running to the left where the numbers descended.

The exit surely had to be near the first row, didn’t it?

Harry knew not, but he decided to follow his logic as the Death Eaters continued to pursue him, shouting expletives and sending curse after curse in his direction.

“HE MUST NOT BE KILLED!” Malfoy shouted after Harry had ducked a killing curse that someone had cast at him, destroying another of the shelves.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

It had been too close for comfort.

He had survived it once before, but he had his doubts that he could do so again.

“Give it to me, Potter!” a voice growled from next to him, pulling Harry from his thoughts.

He turned to see a Death Eater seemingly flying beside him, but a ball of fire from the tip of his wand sent the man on his way with an agonised scream.

“Forty,” Harry murmured as he read the sign on another row of shelves as he passed them.

Another curse barely missed him, throwing up shards of stone from the floor that dug into his back.

He winced but did not miss a step as he kept running.

With forty more rows to clear, Harry wasn’t sure if he would make it without falling victim to one of the Death Eaters.

All he knew was that he could not stop running.

To do so would be foolish, and he would only find himself surrounded and he doubted that, even with the Elder Wand, he could take on so many foes at once.

Not that he wouldn’t make it as difficult as he could for them, but he was up against some of the best that Voldemort had to offer, and those that found themselves in such a position, rarely lived to tell any about it.

(Break)

The trembling of the walls and floor around him were what pulled him from his slumber and Sturgis Podmore frowned in confusion at his current predicament.

He had not remembered falling asleep, but it was difficult to remember much with how much his head was pounding.

It was another explosion that pulled him from his thoughts and he shot to his feet.

It had come from within the Department, but Albus had not shown them how to access it beyond remaining vigilant in the corridor that led there.

“Bugger,” he muttered as he heard shouting in the distance and the sounds of more spell fire.

Reaching for his wand, he realised he did not have it and the panic he already felt intensified.

He needed to reach Albus, but how?

The only solution he could think of would be to reach one of the many fireplaces within the Ministry itself and hope he was in his office.

As the voices drew nearer, he ran as quickly as his legs would carry him out of the corridor and he hurried into the elevator, frantically pressing the button for the atrium, hoping there was a guard on duty at this late hour.

There wasn’t, but spotting the public fires only a short distance away, he sprinted towards the closest one and threw a handful of floo powder into the dying embers.

“Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office!” Sturgis said desperately, his gaze shifting towards the golden elevator he had just left.

Here, he could not hear any of the commotion occurring below, and Sturgis did not know whether that was a good thing or not.

“What is the problem, Sturgis?” the concerned voice of Albus spoke.

Sturgis had never been so relieved to see Dumbledore, despite the panic he still felt.

“Albus, something is happening in the department,” he explained hurriedly. “I heard explosions and shouting, and someone has stolen my wand!”

Albus’s expression became grave.

“Remain where you are,” he instructed firmly. “I will rally the Order. Do you have any idea how many are there?”

Sturgis shook his head.

“Several,” he answered apologetically.

With a nod, Albus’s head vanished, and Sturgis felt no more of the relief.

Instead, it was dread that gripped him as he watched the elevator, and as he did so, he would swear that he could hear and feel yet more explosions coming from the floors beneath him.

(Break)

Having made it to the end of the rows of shelves and bursting through the exit, the relief that Harry felt was short-lived. He now found himself in an enormous circular room with a dozen or so doors lining the wall.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, sealing the door he had just entered through with an advanced locking charm.

It wouldn’t keep the Death Eaters out for long, but it would give him some much-needed time.

“That one,” he decided, running towards the door directly opposite.

The sound of spells smashing against the door he had locked followed him, and as he entered the next room, he heard his pursuers spill into the one he had just left.

“FIND HIM!” Lucius Malfoy commanded.

Harry took a few breaths as he took in his new surroundings, aware that at any moment, he could be discovered.

“What the hell is this place?” he murmured to himself as he looked for an exit.

Dotted around the room were various oddities; statues that were spilling sand on the ground that was quickly sucked back up, what appeared to be a well in the centre of the room, and even a tank with an overly large brain floating in water.

Whatever these things were, Harry had no intention of going near them.

They were in the secret department for a reason, and he did not wish to find out why for himself.

Crossing the room, he did find another door, but again, he was seemingly no closer to finding his way out as he pushed it open.

Instead, it was another room, this one filled with large jars of sand and an array of pendants.

Time turners.

Harry had never seen one in person before, but he had read about them.

Time travel was a dangerous undertaking, so it made sense that it would be the Unspeakables that studied it.

“He has to be in here!” a voice growled from somewhere behind him.

Quietly, but as quickly as he could, Harry entered the next room which turned out to be much larger than the others.

It resembled the amphitheatres he had visited in Greece when he was a child. Rows of stone benches stretched around the room, ascending to the very top where the exits were.

In the very centre of the room was a large archway, the mere sight of it sending a shiver down his spine.

Even though the magic pouring off of it felt familiar, whatever that was, Harry knew should be avoided.

Still, it was as though dozens of voices were speaking to him from within, and though he could not make out the words, he had no doubt they were offering warnings.

With a shake of his head, Harry ran towards the nearest flight of steps that led towards one of the exits above, only to pause as the door burst open and he found himself confronted by one of the Death Eaters.

“HE’S IN HERE!” the man roared, aiming a rather nasty concussion hex at Harry who returned it towards the caster, following it up with cleaving hex.

The Death Eater screamed as the latter caught him just below the knee, and he tumbled down the flight of stone steps he was stood upon, bereft of one of his legs.

Not that he would miss it.

A loud snap sounded, and his body fell limp before he reached the bottom, his neck now resting at an unnatural angle.

He would not be screaming in such a bloodcurdling way again.

Before Harry had time to seize any advantage from his foe’s misfortune, several of the doors above him burst open, and in only a matter of seconds, he found himself surrounded once more by cloaked figures.

“Give me the prophecy, Potter,” Lucius Malfoy demanded. “There is nowhere else for you to run.”

He was right.

Even the door he had entered the large room via was now guarded, and even if Harry could kill the Death Eater there, he would not make it through in time to avoid the attacks of so many enemies.

Besides, he had grown tired of running.

With a nod to himself, he removed the glass orb from within his robes.

“You’re right,” he sighed. “There is nowhere else to run, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be handing anything to you. Why don’t you come and get it?” he urged.

“With pleasure,” Bellatrix replied. “CRUCIO!”

Harry stepped out of the line of fire and Bellatrix raised her wand again.

“NO!” Malfoy commanded. “It could break you stupid woman. Potter, I am only going to ask you once more. Hand the prophecy over and we will allow you to leave.”

Harry snorted.

They may not be able to kill him themselves, but they were not going to let him leave. The only advantage that remained was that he had what they so desperately wanted.

If he gave that up, then he had nothing to bargain.

“Bollocks to that,” he chuckled darkly. “I’d still rather you come and get it yourselves.”

Releasing a deep breath, he turned on the spot as he waved his wand and a protective ring of blue flames erupted around him.

Gellert had been particularly proud of this spell and Harry could see why.

“GET HIM!” Malfoy ordered.

One of the Death Eaters charged towards him, only for the fire to reduce them to ash before he could reach Harry.

“What is that?” one of the other masked figures asked worriedly.

“IT DOESN’T MATTER, WE NEED THE PROPHECY!” Malfoy roared, brandishing his wand as he attempted to stifle the flames.

The others joined in with the effort and Harry shook his head as he resisted their efforts to breach his defence.

It was the first time he had used it in a confrontation, and he was far from proficient with it.

He made a note to himself to practice with it more so that it could be used to its full potential.

Nonetheless, despite not having mastered it, the fire served to keep the Death Eaters at bay, and now all Harry had to do was find another advantage.

He could not rely on this stalemate lasting indefinitely, and he was still outnumbered by a dozen or so to one.

(Break)

“What did Albus actually say?” Sirius questioned as he and Remus ran towards the entrance of the Ministry.

The werewolf shot him a look of disapproval.

He had urged Sirius to remain at Grimmauld Place.

The Ministry of Magic was the last place he should be, after all.

Sirius, however, had grown tired of being stuck in the house he had always hated, and if what little information he had gotten from Remus already was true, he would be needed.

“Not much,” Remus huffed. “Just that Sturgis heard explosions and voices coming from the department.”

“So, it could be nothing?”

Remus shrugged as he opened the door to the phone box and dialled the number.

A moment later, the two men were descending into the atrium of the Ministry where the Order was already gathering.

“What are you doing here, Black?” Moody growled irritably.

“The same as the rest of you,” Sirius replied simply. “Where’s Albus?”

Even before Moody could reply, one of the nearby fireplaces burst into life and Dumbledore emerged from within, his wand drawn and his expression uncharacteristically severe.

He shot Sirius a frown but made no comment on his presence.

“Come,” he instructed. “I have a feeling that this will not be such a peaceful excursion.”

Sirius followed the rest of the members of the Order, staying close to both Remus and Albus who led them to a golden elevator.

“What was that?” Kingsley questioned, drawing his wand as a scream sounded from somewhere below them.

The others followed suit, none offering the auror an answer.

Silently, they passed through a series of corridors until they reached a circular, stone room where they were confronted by several doors.

“Bloody hell, it’s hot in here,” Bill Weasley commented.

“The heat is coming from this room,” Albus explained, a frown of curiosity marring his features.

Pushing the door open, Sirius gasped as an uncomfortable heat washed over him, but it was something that became far-flung from his mind as he took in the scene before him.

Death Eaters were spread throughout the room attempting to bring an eerily blue fire under control, but it was the person standing in the centre of the flames that made the man balk.

“HARRY!” he shouted, pointing needlessly towards his godson.

(Break)

It was with mixed emotions that Harry realised the members of the Order of the Phoenix had arrived. He was relieved that he now had some assistance in dealing with the Death Eaters, but equally concerned that he saw Sirius amongst them.

Along with this, he knew he could no longer rely on his flames as a form of defence.

He had conjured them with only the intent of protecting him, and they would not be prejudiced in immolating the members of the Order.

Still, he was grateful.

The longer the battle between himself and Voldemort’s best continued, the more likely it was they would have eventually broken through.

Already Harry had been caught with a rather nasty cutting curse that had sliced deeply into his ribs and he’d had to take a moment to cauterize it with the tip of his wand.

Nevertheless, it appeared that the fighting was only now truly beginning.

Seeing that most of the Death Eaters were now engaged with the members of the Order, Harry vanquished his flames before throwing himself into the fray, coming to Sirius’s aide as he attempted to fight off a pair of masked figures.

Despite the Order having come, they were still outnumbered.

“Nice one, James!” Sirius praised as Harry sent one of the Death Eaters sprawling with a bone-splintering curse that caught his opponent on the collar bone.

Sirius too ended his fight quickly, blasting the remaining Death Eater across the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Harry demanded as he blocked a spell sent his way.

“I’m here to help,” Sirius replied with a grin.

Harry could only shake his head as he returned the gesture, ducking below a bright orange curse sent towards him.

With a flick of his wand, a canon-like blast sounded and the caster was caught in the chest by Harry’s offering.

The man screamed as he collapsed to his knees, only to be sent skidding across the stone floor by Sirius’s follow up spell.

“WATCH OUT!” Harry shouted as another Death Eater attempted to curse his godfather in the back.

With a wave of his wand, Sirius was sent out of the path of the spell and Harry deftly swatted it away.

“You do have some tricks,” a woman’s voice cooed. “I like tricks. Come and play, Potter.”

The woman removed her mask to reveal the familiar face of one of the Death Eaters that had been freed from Azkaban.

Bellatrix Lestrange was an exceedingly dangerous witch with a reputation to match any born to the Black family in recent history.

With a nod, Harry obliged, but it was Sirius that sprang into action, snapping a whip of flame towards his cousin.

Bellatrix giggled as she simply stepped away from it.

“I do not think you want to play with me, Sirius,” she warned mockingly. “I would hate to have to kill a member of my own family.”

“I wouldn’t,” Sirius growled in response.

As the two began casting spells towards one another, Harry quickly found himself caught up in another fight, this time with a Death Eater much more skilled than any other he had faced thus far.

The man’s duelling stances and footwork were exceptional, and his wand work as fluid as any Harry had seen, so much so that he struggled to keep up with the man.

“Just give me the prophecy, Potter!” his foe growled, sending a trio of debilitating spells as he spoke.

“Piss off,” Harry returned, blocking the spells before sweeping his wand across his body.

The floor between them erupted into a shower of stone which he banished towards the Death Eater.

A groan of pain sounded through the cloud of dust, and Harry pounced.

Shifting into his wolf form, he closed the distance between them, and seized the Death Eater by the throat.

Biting down with all his might, Harry felt the warm blood fill his mouth as he tore at the flesh, stilling the man in only a matter of seconds.

Reverting back into his human form, he looked for another opponent, only to see the Death Eaters making their retreat.

It would not do well for them to be caught here, and though there was no doubt that they would be punished for failing to obtain the prophecy, fleeing was preferable for them.

“BELLA, COME!” Lucius called from the top of one of the stone stairways, fending off an attack from Moody who was hobbling after them.

Harry could almost feel the pout that the woman sported, but she reluctantly began following the others, though not before firing a rather vicious blasting curse towards a seemingly injured Sirius.

Harry felt his blood run cold as his godfather failed to raise his wand to defend himself, but as he could only watch on helplessly, another spell collided with Bellatrix’s, preventing Sirius from being sent through the archway Harry had avoided.

His eyes widened as he looked up to see a furious Cassie stalking across the room from the very door he had entered.

For a moment, Bellatrix looked worried, but she smiled as she backed away towards where the other Death Eaters were exiting the room.

“Run back to your master, girl,” Cassie called after her. “He cannot protect you forever.”

Bellatrix opened her mouth to reply but was pulled roughly by who Harry believed was Lucius Malfoy who slammed the door shut after them.

“How did you know I was here?” Harry whispered as he pulled Cassie into a hug.

The woman said nothing but nodded towards the approaching Dumbledore.

“I thought it best to send for her when I saw it was you that had caused the disturbance.”

“It wasn’t me,” Harry defended. “Someone brought me here against my will.”

Dumbledore frowned.

“From Durmstrang?”

Harry nodded.

“I heard one of them mention a Barty.”

“Barty Crouch Jr, I would presume,” Dumbledore sighed. “I must say, Harry, I am very impressed with how well you defended yourself, and I know a certain someone who will be rather smug that you chose to wield his magic.”

“It seemed like a useful spell for the moment.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed, “but perhaps we should leave this place. I do not expect we will be treated favourably by any who might happen upon us here.”

“What about the dead?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore deflated as he looked around the room.

From what Harry could see, a few members of the Order had been injured, but none had lost their lives.

The Death Eaters that had not been killed had fled, leaving four of their own within the room, two of which Harry had killed, and another having been consumed by his fire.

“Are there others?”

Harry shrugged.

“Most likely in the Hall of Prophecies. I made quite a mess in there.”

Dumbledore nodded his understanding.

He made no secret that he did not agree with Harry killing Voldemort’s followers, but he did not attempt to chide him for it.

Not that he would with Cassie here.

“I suppose we should leave them,” the Hogwarts headmaster sighed. “Perhaps they will draw attention away from any other that may have been here. Come, Harry. I expect you will need to see a healer. I’m sure Madam Pomfrey will be happy to accommodate you.”

Harry shook his head.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have to get back to Durmstrang. I’m fine,” he added to the scowling Cassiopeia.

“You will not be going back there with a Death Eater in the school!” she snapped. “You will leave that to me. I will handle it. Sirius, you will keep him with you. He is not to leave your company until I say otherwise.”

The man nodded, wincing as he hobbled towards Harry.

Cassiopeia shot the teen a look of warning before activating a portkey and vanishing from within the Ministry.

“How did she do that?” Harry asked as the assembled members of the Order made their way out of the room.

Dumbledore was frowning thoughtfully.

“I expect that the Death Eaters needed to compromise the protections in place so that they could enter without any being aware of them having done so,” he answered.

Harry nodded his understanding as his eyes roamed over the Order members.

Some were limping and being assisted by the others, and the rest seemed to have fared well in the fighting.

Moody in particular seemed to be invigorated by the experience, if the grin he wore was anything to go by.

“You did well, Harry,” Sirius praised. “They would both be proud of you.”

Harry snorted as he shook his head.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” He assured his godfather.

Well, that was not entirely true, but he had not intended to visit the Hall of Prophecies under such circumstances.

“I know, kid,” Sirius murmured as he ruffled Harry’s hair, “and thanks for having my back in there.”

“She really did a number on you, didn’t she?”

Sirius nodded.

“She always was the best of us,” he huffed. “There’s not many people that could face her and live to tell the tale. What was that blue fire?”

“Just a spell I picked up.”

“That’s quite some spell,” Remus commented as he joined them in the golden lift. “How many did you get with it?”

“Only one with that, but I think I got three or four others at least.”

Remus whistled appreciatively.

“As impressive as it is, we are just glad that you’re okay,” Sirius broke in, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

The group exited the elevator and entered the atrium where the was no sign that any had been alerted to what had happened below.

“How will the Unspeakables react?” Harry asked Dumbledore.

“I expect they will be furious, but it is unlikely that what transpired this evening will be made known to any. The department operates in secrecy, Harry, and that means in every capacity.”

Harry nodded his understanding.

Although this was certainly not how he had envisioned obtaining the prophecy, he now had it, nonetheless.

Still, his thoughts were not occupied by the glass orb within his robes, but by just what Cassiopeia would do when she made it to Durmstrang.

Did she even know how Barty Crouch had gotten into the school?

Harry had his own thoughts on the matter, but the only possibility did not offer any comfort.

Cassiopeia, however, was no fool.

She would not act unless she was certain of what she was doing, and there was a small part of Harry that felt pity for Barty Crouch.

His Aunt was not a woman to cross, and the fact that the man had the sheer audacity to do what he had and placed Harry in mortal peril would not be lost on Cassie.

No, the man would undoubtedly suffer a most unfortunate experience, and remembering just what had happened here, any empathy Harry may have felt was all but forgotten now.

(Break)

The hidden tunnel into the school that Gellert had told her about was thick with dust, and only one other faded pair of footprints had disturbed this place, likely since the school had been built.

Gellert believed that it was the very first headmaster of Durmstrang that had created the entrance, and that whomever it was had told no other of its existence.

As such, it had remained undiscovered for centuries.

Cassiopeia cursed under her breath as she continued on her way.

Her anger at what had happened had not begun to abate, but she knew she needed to be careful.

This was not her domain, and the school was very much under the control of the very man she suspected to be responsible.

If Igor Karkaroff was not, then he was involved at the very least.

He simply had to be.

No one could gain entry to Durmstrang without his knowledge, so he either allowed Crouch in, or Karkaroff had been compromised in some other fashion.

To Cassiopeia, it did not matter which.

Eventually reaching the end of the tunnel, she found the brick Gellert had spoken of and traced an arch-like shape with the tip of her wand before touching the very centre.

With the sound of scraping stone, a narrow opening formed and she stepped into what she recognised as the Main Hall of the school.

Her steps did not pause as she cast a disillusionment charm on herself.

Although it was the early hours of the morning, she did not wish to be detected, and with that in mind, she carefully but quickly made her way towards where she remembered the headmaster’s office was.

Much to her relief, she reached it without being hindered, but with the mood she was currently in, she truly felt for any who would dare even attempt it.

“Who is it?” the voice of Igor Karkaroff called even before she could knock.

Why was the man not in bed?

Cassiopeia’s jaw clenched.

He was waiting for news of what had happened at the Ministry.

“It is Cassiopeia Black,” she replied. “I was sent for by Professor Sidorova. She explained that Harry has been injured.”

There was only a moment of silence before Karkaroff replied.

“Of course, Miss Black. Give me just a minute so I can make myself decent. The hour is quite late.”

Cassiopeia frowned, her grip tightening on her wand as she listened to the movement within room.

It was the clicking of the lock of the door that spurred her into action, and after only a few attempts, she managed to gain entry to the office, only to be met by the sight of a man who was not Igor Karkaroff jumping out of the window having offered her a smug grin.

Cassie swore as she peered out of the opening into the darkness below.

The man was gone, and despite how frustrated she was that he had escaped, she had not given him much time to do so which meant that he had likely left some evidence behind.

The first thing that grabbed her attention was a goblet on the table, and as Cassie sniffed the contents, she grimaced at the familiarity of it.

“Polyjuice,” she murmured.

That meant that Karkaroff was still alive, or had been until few moments ago.

He would need to be kept close so that his hair could be gathered regularly.

A search of the rest of the main office did not turn up anything else, and even though Cassiopeia Black had witnessed many unpleasant things during her years at war, nothing could have prepared her for what she found when she managed to open the locked cupboard.

She pinched her nose immediately to prevent herself vomiting from the stench alone, but amongst the faeces within the small room was the broken, emaciated, and almost hairless form of Igor Karkaroff.

He had been tortured and was missing several fingers from each hand.

Cuts, scars, and bruises littered his body, and even one of his eyes had been gouged out.

Were it not for the fact that the remaining one was staring at her with abject fear, Cassie would have assumed he was dead.

She released a deep breath as she looked upon the pitiful remnants of the man.

Seeing that it was not his tormentor returning to inflict more pain upon him, Karkaroff began to sob uncontrollably and Cassiopeia could only shake her head.

There was nothing she could do to him that hadn’t already been done, and for once, she took pity on the man, even if it was only to be absent of the unbearable smell within the room.

(Break)

The Dark Lord paced slowly in front of the Death Eaters he had entrusted to ensure the prophecy was in his possession.

Evidently, this had been a mistake on his part.

He could not risk attending himself as he was still doing his utmost to remain in the shadows, but he had planned for this meticulously and it should have been an easy undertaking for his followers.

He frowned as he realised some were missing, but that was something that could be addressed later.

It was not currently as pressing as an explanation of what had occurred.

“What happened?” he whispered dangerously.

“Potter was not subdued correctly, My Lord!” Lucius replied.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the man.

He did not tolerate pathetic excuses.

“Potter is a boy,” the Dark Lord pointed out. “Are you telling me that he bested all of you?”

“He did no such thing!” Bellatrix protested.

“Be quiet, Bella,” Voldemort hissed. “I was asking Lucius.”

The woman fell silent and Lucius swallowed deeply.

“He caught us unawares, My Lord,” he replied. “I do not know what went amiss. I am sorry, My Lord, it will not happen again.”

Voldemort’s nostrils flared.

“Barty?”

From within the shadows of the corner of the room, the tired man emerged wearing an expression of displeasure.

“I gave Potter enough of the potion to control a giant,” he growled. “I even ensured that he was injured before he was sent to them, My Lord,” Barty explained.

He was telling the truth, and Voldemort’s gaze shifted back towards the nervous Lucius.

“Not only did you fail in retrieving the prophecy, but you also returned with less of you,” he whispered dangerously.

“My Lord, Potter killed them. We did not know…”

“CRUCIO!”

The Malfoy lord crumbled to the ground where he writhed and screamed for several seconds under the effect of the curse.

“There is no excuse that will satisfy me,” Voldemort spat as he relented. “Bellatrix, you will provide me with a memory of what happened. Now, get out of my sight!”

Without another word, the Death Eaters hurried from the room after the woman had complied and the Dark Lord took a seat by the fire.

He needed the prophecy, and it had been his plan to obtain it and kill Potter in one fell swoop, but neither had been achieved.

The boy was a problem.

In truth, it mattered not what Barty had done, nor that Lucius had failed. What concerned the Dark Lord was just how his plan had gone so catastrophically awry when it had been concocted and executed so meticulously.

Potter.

For the first time since he had risen, Lord Voldemort felt a pang of concern regarding the boy.

Barty had kept him informed of his observations, and though Potter had evidently proven himself to be quite the duellist and even practitioner of magic, there had been no cause for worry until this evening.

Potter had somehow escaped the clutches of his best followers, and even killed Travers, Mulciber, and Selwyn in the process.

The Dark Lord frowned to himself as he held up the vial provided by Bellatrix.

He needed to see for himself what had transpired.

Not that it would change anything, but he needed to see just what it was that Potter possessed that had seen him live to see another day.

(Break)

It was an exhausted Harry that took a seat on the edge of the bed in the room that Kreacher had prepared for him in Grimmauld Place. The note he had received from Cassiopeia only a few moments prior had been vague, and hurriedly written.

Crouch fled, and Karkaroff is in a bad way. I will explain when I come to collect you later. Get some rest.

Cassie x

Harry could not even begin to fathom just what had happened that had led to him being taken to the Department of Mysteries.

With the excitement over, the tiredness and aches and pains had set in leaving him in no condition to ponder such things.

He needed to rest, but he had waited until he’d received the note to even consider it and had even managed to avoid a lengthy conversation with Dumbledore in the process.

It was clear that the man had many things he wished to ask, but much to Harry’s relief, he had resisted the urge to press him for information.

Not that he would have gotten what he wanted.

Sirius had all but kicked everyone out of Grimmauld Place the moment they had returned, and any notion that Dumbledore had of speaking with Harry was quickly forgotten.

Harry had been left in the company of his godfather who had been attended to by a reluctant Kreacher, and Remus who had chosen to swig from a bottle of Firewhiskey.

They had spoken little of what had happened, something that Harry appreciated.

He did not wish to speak of it, not until he had time to process it for himself.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he removed his robes, frowning as they hit the floor with a dull thud.

The prophecy.

He had yet to listen to it and as he retrieved it from his pocket, he looked upon the glass orb.

It was such an inane object, but something that had come to shape his life to what it was now, and what it would be in the future.

Despite how tired he felt, and what little clarity he possessed, he knew he would get no sleep until he heard the words in their entirety for himself.

‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ...’

Harry immediately reached for the scar upon his brow as he chuckled.

He would need to consider the words further, but he had heard nothing that gave him concern.

He already wanted Voldemort dead; a sentiment shared for him by his foe.

In all, the prophecy was quite meaningless other than confirming that one of them would indeed have to die at the hands of the other.

Nonetheless, despite changing nothing, it only made everything feel that much more real, that even if he wished to, he could not escape what was coming.

Not that such a thought would cross Harry’s mind.

Even after what he had experienced and endured this evening his resolve had not wavered.

If anything, what had happened in the Department of Mysteries had only steeled it and made Harry more determined to see it through until the very end.

No matter what that would be.