Published: November 23rd 2024, 4:17:55 am
Harry pulled his cloak tighter against the chill as he followed Remus through the twisting alleys of an abandoned muggle estate. The night was cloaked in mist, the pale glow of the half-moon struggling to pierce through the heavy clouds above. The air smelled of damp concrete and rusting metal, a sharp contrast to the countryside where Harry had spent most of the summer. A couple of flickering lights lined the muddy road here and there.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Remus muttered, glancing nervously at the shadows with weary eyes. “What if it’s a trap?”
“I like traps.” Harry said as they followed the road into the estate as described by their hosts.
“The werewolf gangs are dangerous and unpredictable, Harry. They don’t trust wizards, and for good reason. If they think we’ve come to trick them, we won’t leave here unscathed.” Remus muttered.
“I’m not here to trick them.”
“Do they know that?” Remus asked with a huff, huddling inside his cloak to ward off the cold.
“We’ll see soon enough.” Harry said as they walked the length of the road for a few more minutes before finally reaching their destination.
The meeting point—a dilapidated factory whose shattered windows gaped like empty eye sockets. Remus pushed open a creaking metal door, and the sound echoed ominously through the expansive interior.
Harry’s wand was lit already and only shone brighter once he stepped inside the factory. Across a slew of broken, rusty old machinery stood a gang of roguish-looking men and women.
There were at least twenty of them, their silhouettes barely visible in the dim light filtering through holes in the roof. Some were hunched, their movements animalistic, while others stood tall, their postures radiating defiance. The air was thick with tension, the faint scent of fur and sweat mingling with the metallic tang of the factory.
A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped forward, his face partially obscured by a tangled mane of brown hair. His yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness as he regarded Remus and Harry with suspicion.
“Lupin,” the man growled, his voice rough as gravel. “You asked for a meeting. You’ve got one, but be quick.”
“Will, it’s been long.” Remus replied evenly.
“Not long enough,” Will snapped. “Last I heard, you were licking Dumbledore’s boots and pretending to be one of them. And now you bring the Chosen One or the Prophesised One or whatever silly name the cowards out there call this one? What do you want from us?”
“We want your unfettered cooperation and a promise to keep your people out of the war in Britain.” Harry boldly stepped forward with his demand. “You’ll pass the word to the rest of the packs and impress upon them the need to stay out of this war.”
“You dare threaten us!” Will snarled before turning into his werewolf form on the spot.
Harry was momentarily stunned to see someone other than Greyback capable of assuming the werewolf form on nights without a full moon in the sky. That was what made Fenrir Greyback a dangerous enemy for the wizarding world. The werewolf form was the epitome of speed and strength, which made it a threat to most wizards and witches. Not many could adapt to the speed of a werewolf and possess a repository of spells to break through the regenerative properties of the werewolf form.
It was one of the reasons why werewolves were considered far more dangerous than vampires. At least the vampires could be easily defeated by shining some sunlight on their faces.
The werewolf before him had fur as black as night and eyes glowing an eerie yellow. It let out a threatening howl and took an aggressive step forward. But Harry could see as clearly as day that Will had no intention of escalating beyond a certain limit. After all, it was no secret that he killed Greyback. The news was all over the Daily Prophet.
Harry shifted into his animagus form in the blink of an eye. He stood before the werewolf and let out a roar backed by his magic, which made Will take a step back. The rest of the werewolves accompanying Will similarly took several steps back on instinct as Harry reinforced his roar with magic.
He reverted to his human form and stared unflinchingly into the beast's yellow eyes before him.
“You see, I can also change into an animal form at will. Now, drop the dramatics and let’s discuss what you benefit from a negotiated peace deal. Shall we?” Harry stared pointedly until Will reverted to his human form.
“You have guts, Potter.” Will nodded with grudging respect, “We will hear you. But keep in mind that not every one of us is like Greyback. We won’t fight your battles for you.”
“Are you then comfortable living under the Dark Lord's yoke?” Harry asked.
“If the future is the Ministry’s yoke, then what difference does it make?” Will asked with a scoff.
“What if I can promise you there won’t be a Ministry yoke in the future in return for your valuable assistance in the fight against the Dark Lord?”
“I have heard many promises before, Potter.”
“Yes, but not from me.” Harry said, staring intently at the werewolf leader.
“What assurance can you give that any agreements we make will endure after the war?” Will asked after a lengthy pause.
“None except for my word and my interest in seeing the eradication of discriminatory laws set against the werewolves.”
Will shook his head and let out a long breath.
“I can’t trust you.”
“You’ll have to, or the alternative is for us to meet in battle. Fenrir Greyback and his friends found it extremely detrimental to their lives to cross paths with me on a battlefield.”
“The Dark Lord is not someone you defy easily.”
“Leave that tosser to me, and you focus on keeping the packs off the streets. Now, if you can capture Death Eaters and deliver them intact to us, a monetary reward is involved.”
“Monetary reward? How much are we talking?” Will looked interested, making Harry grin as they started the negotiations.
*****
The cold, stone walls of Potter Manor’s dungeons reverberated with silence. A single flickering torch cast long shadows that danced on the floor, their flames trembling like the last vestiges of hope in the dreary place. That silence was broken by Harry's slow and deliberate steps as he walked further into the dungeon where the captured Death Eaters were imprisoned.
“Are they awake?” Harry asked the elves guarding the dungeons.
“Yes, master. We gave the antidote as you instructed.”
Harry found Evan Rosier slumped in a chair, his arms bound by ropes that seemed to hum with the enchantment holding him in place. His dark eyes, though bloodshot, still held a glint of defiance—something Harry admired, considering he had kept the guy in an animated sleep for a few days and revived only recently.
“I’m not telling you anything, Potter,” Rosier growled, his voice hoarse but steady, even in his restraints. His lip curled into a grimace as he spat on the cold floor. “You think you can break me? You’re wasting your time.”
Harry merely raised an eyebrow at the reaction from Voldemort’s trusted Death Eater in service. Harry stood across from him, silent for a long moment. The air in the room was thick with tension before he chose to break it with a chuckle.
“I was not going to ask anything, Rosier.” Harry said with an amused tilt to his voice.
“Then why am I here?” Rosier asked, glaring with his ocean-blue eyes.
“Why not? I captured you, so I should get to keep you—finders, keepers, and all that,” Harry said with a shrug.
“I don’t believe you. Your comrades in Dumbledore’s circle won’t stand for it. They’ll give us a fair trial.” Rosier sneered.
“You know your enemy well.” Harry nodded in respect at that. “Unfortunately for you, no one knows you’ve been captured by me. So, I can do whatever I want with you.”
“You’ll not…”
“Crucio.” Harry intoned without a shred of mercy.
The word was barely out of his mouth when the air itself seemed to warp around them. A pulse of dark energy shot from the tip of Harry’s wand, and Evan Rosier’s body jerked violently in the chair as if struck by an invisible, electrified force. The scream that tore from Rosier’s throat was raw and desperate, the kind of scream that only comes from a soul drowning in pain and despair.
The spell cast using the Elder Wand was far more potent than any normal wand. The strain on his mind was almost negligible, which was not a characteristic of an unforgivable curse. The mental strain of maintaining a curse like the cruciatus was almost unbearable if it was a normal wand. But the Elder Wand was uniquely suited for casting the worst dark curses known to wizardkind.
Rosier’s body contorted, his mouth open in an endless scream, his face turning pale as the curse ate into his mind. The cruelty of it was indescribable—an excruciating torture that gripped every nerve, every fibre of his being.
Harry cancelled the spell and allowed Rosier a small reprieve.
“I won’t… I won’t tell you… anything,” Rosier gasped between waves of pain.
“Good.” Harry nodded with a grin.
“Crucio.”
The rush of power he felt as he watched Rosier writhe in agony was pure euphoria. There was something distinctively addictive and attractive in holding someone else’s life in his hand. He knew it was wrong to do so, but in a deep corner of his mind, he felt some vindication in stepping into the darker side of the magical spectrum. This level of control over someone else’s fate stroked his ego in all the wrong sorts of ways that gave him some guilty pleasure. But it also sated some dark desire he constantly tried to ignore.
The higher he climbed in magical power, the more tempting it became to do what he wanted without caring about the consequences.
“Not so innocent now, are you, Potter?” Rosier gasped out as Harry lifted the curse once more.
“Innocent? When scum like you walk this earth innocence of every decent wizard and witch is threatened.” Harry said, circling Rosier.
“Is that so? You… think this makes you better… than me?” Rosier’s voice cracked as he tried to speak, his words slurred.
“Think? I know I’m better than you, Rosier.” Harry said coldly before he dug the tip of the Elder Wand into the back of Rosier’s left palm.
Rosier started screaming as the tip of the Elder Wand glowed a fiery red, and the skin slowly began to peel away from Rosier’s hand.
“You have one chance,” Harry said, his voice low and steady. “Tell me where he is. Tell me where Voldemort is hiding, and I’ll let you go. I’ll stop this.”
Rosier’s lips parted in a weak, cruel laugh. “Never!”
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped back from Rosier.
“You have an unusually strong resolve for a branded slave. I’ll give you that.” Harry said through gritted teeth, staring at the stubborn man before him.
“You don’t know anything about me.” Rosier breathed out while his face turned into a bright shade of tomato.
“I can make a guess. Someone introduced you to Voldemort, and you were awed by the power possessed by the Dark Lord. You thought the Dark Lord’s leadership would help tip over the Ministry and place the wizards in a position of unrestricted power over the muggles. I’m sure there are other such grandiose plans swirling in your mind.”
“What is wrong with wizards ruling over the muggles?” Rosier snarled, straining against his bindings like a rabid dog.
“There is nothing inherently wrong about it so long as you have the skill and the patience to govern,” Harry said without batting an eye. “Your mistake was thinking Voldemort wanted to rule over anyone. That madman only wants to kill, maim and force others to worship him like a god. Voldemort is no statesman. You should know this by now. But you’re in denial, and you’ve unfortunately been taken by the sunken cost fallacy.”
“You talk too much, Potter.” Rosier muttered after taking a deep breath.
“I apologise for the inconvenience. Are you sure you don’t want to volunteer the information I seek?” Harry asked one last time, but he only received silence from the bound Death Eater.
Harry nodded to himself before pocketing the Elder Wand.
“I’m afraid you’ll not be of much use after this is done.” Harry said coldly as he placed his palms on both sides of the Rosier’s head and stared straight into the man’s eyes.
Harry unleashed a full-scale legilimency probe without any care for the potential damage he could cause to Rosier’s mind. Rosier only managed to hold off his attack for a minute at most before the Death Eater’s mind cracked open under his relentless assault. He punched straight through the barriers and searched for what he wanted to know. When he eventually pulled back, Rosier was screaming at the top of his lungs, with blood flowing out of his nostrils.
“I warned you.”
Harry left Rosier in the cell, doing nothing to alleviate the pain the Death Eater was feeling. In the best-case scenario, Rosier would suffer from a week-long migraine. Harry was leaning toward the worst outcome, which was a fragmented mind with huge gaps in memory and a radical shift in character. There was a small chance of some neurological problems cropping up, but that was the rarest of rare cases.
The other prisoners in his dungeon were eerily quiet after listening in on his ‘interrogation’ of Evan Rosier. Most of them were low-level grunts with their minds wide open. Just a simple glance was enough to let him know their secrets, which was not much. These low-level Death Eaters were either taken by the ‘glory’ of ruling the muggles or were just simply attracted by the gold and silver Voldemort threw around.
Some of the prisoners here were newly caught by the werewolves, thanks to the deal he made with the werewolf packs. He was good on his promise by paying them good silver and gold for a branded Death Eater.
Between the Dark Lord losing Death Eaters to the aurors and hit-wizards, the addition of werewolf packs into the mix of hostiles was doing a number on the Dark Lord’s army. In addition to that headache, Harry was now in possession of Voldemort’s location, which was quickly becoming useless as every minute passed.
He went straight to the fireplace and threw some floo powder.
“Greengrass Manor.”
When Harry put his head into the fireplace and welcomed the green flames to wash over his face, he gained access to Daphne’s home. Fortunately, he could see Damien sitting by the fireplace, nursing a cup of tea in one hand and a boon in the other.
“Damien.”
“Harry?” Damien stared at the fireplace in surprise.
“Sorry to bother you, Damien. I need you to pass on a message to Ivan Volkov.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Tell him it’s time to hunt a snake.”
******
Harry Potter crouched low behind a jagged rock, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. The air around the craggy hillside was unnaturally cold, a stillness that felt alive with danger. The base of Voldemort’s operations was heavily guarded, its perimeter bristling with Death Eaters.
“Christoph and his team will lead the attack while we bring down the wards and act as backup. Anything to add?” Ivan said from their hiding spot.
Harry just nodded and let the professional hit-wizards do all the grunt work while he conserved his strength in case he got to confront Voldemort.
He felt the wards collapse one by one as the hit-wizards arranged by the Flamels expertly unravelled the layers of barriers almost seamlessly.
“It’s time. You ready?” Ivan asked just before the last ward was dismantled.
“I was born ready.” said Harry.
Harry closely followed Ivan into the manor grounds, where flashes of light lit up the otherwise darkened grounds. The hit-wizards under Ivan were ruthless and were not interested in taking anyone alive. He could feel a couple of unforgivables sizzling past his senses. But he didn’t miss the opportunity to knock a few out by sneaking a couple of reductors in between battles.
Just as they reached the castle entrance, Ivan acted on his own.
“Lumos Maxima.”
A brilliant orb of light shot from his wand, soaring into the air like a miniature sun. The darkness recoiled, and the entire fortress was illuminated for a brief, blinding moment.
Chaos erupted. Death Eaters shouted orders, some shielding their eyes while others immediately began casting spells. Harry didn’t wait. He sprang to his feet, aiming his wand at the nearest group.
“Confringo.” Harry cast the spell.
The spell detonated against the rock wall beside three Death Eaters, throwing shards of stone and debris into the air. The Death Eaters were sent sprawling on the floor and moved quite a number of feet before they were promptly killed by Ivan’s men.
The adrenaline surged through him as he pressed forward. A jet of green light whizzed past his ear, so close he felt its heat. Another Death Eater appeared, wand raised, but Harry was faster.
“Sectumsempra.”
Blood sprayed as the Death Eater fell, clutching their chest.
Harry barely had time to catch his breath before three more figures emerged from the shadows. All three of them were promptly dispatched by a well-placed wide area exploding charm. The force of the explosion three the three Death Eaters against a wall, never to rise again.
They swept through the stronghold room after room. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Voldemort anywhere in the base, but they caught more Death Eaters than any day since the war started.
“Where is the Dark Lord?” one of the mercenaries shouted in the face of a young Death Eater while peeling the skin from the back of his hand.
Harry turned away from the desperate cries of the downed Death Eater and went with a couple of hit wizards into the manor's dungeon. There were a couple of guards guarding the dungeons, but Harry fell them with multiple stunners and exploding hexes.
Stepping over the downed Death Eaters, Harry clipped them with bonebreaker curses to ensure they didn’t rise up and make a fuss.
“There are prisoners in here.” one of the hit-wizards shouted.
Harry found Garrick Ollivander in one of the cells while the other hit-wizards helped the rest of the prisoners out of the cell and escorted them to safety.
“Thank Merlin!” Ollivander gasped when Harry broke into the cell and helped the old wandmaker out of the cell.
“Is that… are you Harry Potter?” one of the wizards rescued from the cells gasped in recognition.
Harry conjured a long rope and tapped his wand against it.
“Portus.”
There was a flare of green aura as the spell took effect before it died down, turning the rope into a portkey. He ensured the prisoners were whisked away from the manor to get preliminary treatment before being sent to St. Mungo’s hospital.
Harry continued to sweep through the manor in search of the Dark Lord, but there was no sign of the guy. But he did come across Theodore Nott, a fellow student in Hogwarts. The black-haired Slytherin was bound in chains and being escorted out with other prisoners by the hit-wizards.
“Where is Voldemort?”
“Do you think the Dark Lord shares his travel plans with me, Potter?” Nott asked rhetorically.
“I suppose not. Where are the rest of your family and Snape?”
“I don’t know.”
Harry got the feeling that Nott was not going to be cooperative. Though tempted to dip into Nott's mind, he decided to leave the interrogation to the aurors.
“Let’s take them away. There is nothing else for us to do.”