— — — — — —
A surge of ice-blue magic swept out like a tidal wave, so dense and real it distorted the very air. Snape threw up a shield instead, cursing under his breath.
Did this brat forget who his allies are?
The Aurors reacted quickly, years of training kicking in as they combined their magic into a large Protego Totalum.
The silver barrier was instantly swallowed by the freezing mist, hiding everything from view. Just as the Aurors braced themselves to counterattack the moment the spell ended, things escalated again.
As if Tom's magic would stop there. Two spiraling pillars of ice roared up like twin tornadoes, linking the sky. They churned violently across the battlefield, converging on the Aurors before merging into one — and detonating.
The shockwave blasted Snape back a good thirty meters before he hit the ground in a graceless sprawl.
When the storm dissipated, the world had turned unrecognizable. In the middle of June, the land looked like the dead of winter — a sheet of frost spreading over cracked ground, stray snowflakes drifting through the air, a chill that cut to the bone.
"You didn't kill them all, did you?"
Snape didn't even take a moment to appreciate the scenery. Spitting dirt from his mouth, he marched forward angrily.
"How would I? Look—" Tom pointed into the crater ahead. All nine Aurors were frozen solid, locked in ice like grotesque statues, their last expressions twisted mid-reaction. Disturbing... yet almost like an art gallery of human absurdity.
"As long as they're alive."
Snape let out a breath. He only came here to kill Peter Pettigrew. If nine Aurors died too, the Ministry would explode.
Hold on.
"There should be ten," Snape said sharply.
"The last one was guarding Pettigrew. I dealt with him too," Tom said, not-so-subtly adding, "All the work was mine. You barely did anything. I'm thinking surcharge."
Snape ignored the little merchant-goblin-in-training and headed toward the wrecked carriage.
Surcharge? He'd already emptied his vaults to gather thirty thousand Galleons for Tom — even sold part of his private stores of rare potions and ingredients. Any more and he'd be pawning himself off next.
...
Inside the carriage, Pettigrew was trembling uncontrollably. With a gag stuffed between his teeth, all he could manage were muffled whimpers.
Not that the Aurors were kinky — it was just to stop him from speaking any spells.
Pettigrew was in sheer panic. He'd heard the explosions outside, the whine of Apparitions cutting through the air. How could the Death Eaters have gotten word this fast? His identity was only exposed yesterday, and now someone had already been sent to eliminate him.
It was over. Everything depended on Fudge winning now.
He prayed — prayed that the Aurors would repel the attackers. All the strong Death Eaters were supposed to be locked up in Azkaban. The ones left outside were nobodies. And there were ten Aurors escorting him.
They could win. They had to.
Right as he was desperately convincing himself, a shrill cry from the thestrals split the air. A moment later, the entire carriage was torn apart. Pettigrew tumbled out, scraping across the dirt.
He looked up — and froze.
Two figures in pointed hoods, faces masked, stood over him. Death Eaters.
Snape flicked his wand. The gag exploded with a crack, taking several of Pettigrew's teeth with it. Blood filled his mouth as he choked on a scream.
"D-don't kill me! Don't kill me!" he babbled, dropping to his knees. "I served the Dark Lord too! I gave him information, so much information! I'm one of you!"
"Because of your information, the Dark Lord died to Potter."
Snape's voice was altered, but the hatred in it was real. "Crucio."
"AAAAAHHH!"
The curse tore through Pettigrew's nerves like fire. He writhed on the ground like a maggot, screaming so loudly his voice cracked. He couldn't even faint — the pain kept dragging him back to consciousness.
Emotion fueled the curse. Without Dumbledore here to watch, without any witnesses to restrain him, Snape poured years of hatred — and regret — into every pulse of the Cruciatus.
"That's enough," Tom said casually. "Leave it any longer and the Aurors really will freeze to death."
Reluctantly, Snape lowered his wand. He forced the convulsing Pettigrew onto his back.
Their eyes met. Pettigrew's vision was blurry, but when he saw that look — that cold fury — he suddenly remembered that night, the one where Snape had tormented him before.
His eyes widened. "You're—"
"Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green cut through the forest.
Peter Pettigrew fell without another sound, limbs sprawled, his face still frozen in that moment of terror.
Snape stood there, breathing hard for a long while before finally composing himself. His shoulders seemed lighter when he said, voice low, "Let's go."
Tom nodded. He flicked a red beam at the frozen Auror outside the crater, then another over the nine puppets of ice below. Only after that did he Apparate with Snape, leaving the island behind and reappearing in Ireland.
"Professor, if you ever need me again, just say the word." Tom dispelled his disguise with a grin. "Fair prices, honest business. Guaranteed success."
"Hmph."
Snape removed his hood and snorted. "Thirty thousand Galleons per job. I can't afford you."
"You could look at it positively," Tom said, completely shameless. "Without me, never mind killing Pettigrew — you'd have been captured here today. Do you want Dumbledore to break into Azkaban to fetch you?"
He said this with absolute confidence, conveniently ignoring the fact that all the Aurors' upgraded gear had been his invention to begin with.
Snape had no idea about that little detail, so he was left speechless.
It wasn't that he hadn't fought back just now, but those Aurors had charged in relying on their fancy equipment and didn't bother defending. Then Tom showed up and shut them all down in one sweep.
The only downside to expensive tools is that they're expensive. Well—being expensive wasn't Tom's flaw, it was his.
"Where did you get a frost spell that strong?" Snape couldn't help but ask, his tone sour.
"Want to learn it? I can teach you." Tom said with a bright smile. "Only fifty thousand Galleons. After that, you'll be able to freeze two or three dozen Aurors into ice statues without breaking a sweat."
Even though Snape couldn't engrave magic circuits, the frost spell Tom had modified was already brutally strong. With Snape's talent, mastering it wouldn't be a problem. He really wasn't trying to scam him this time.
"How did you turn into such a money-grubber?" the old bat grumbled. He genuinely didn't understand how Tom had changed so much overnight, like he'd been infected by the goblins at Gringotts.
Tom sighed. "Life's expensive. If I don't make more money, how am I supposed to spoil my girlfriends? Ah, forget it—you wouldn't get it."
Pfft—
Snape took another invisible stab straight to the chest. With a cold flick of his cloak, he strode off.
"Stop trying to squeeze money out of a poor man," he snapped.
He said that, but in truth, Snape was tempted. He strongly suspected Tom had robbed the tomb of some legendary wizard to get his hands on so many powerful spells and potions.
Galleons didn't mean much to him anyway. Maybe he should start making some real money and buy a few good things from Tom...
Smiling as he watched Severus Snape's cloak billow away into the night, Tom opened his system panel.
Out of the five million Galleons he needed, he'd already earned eighty thousand—thirty thousand from Snape, and fifty thousand sponsored by Lucius Malfoy.
Technically, Lucius had given him a hundred thousand, but the trial system only counted fifty.
Tom had figured it out now. Plain extortion didn't count, but as long as he provided a legitimate service in return, then it counted as earning money...
Like how he helped Lucius extract and store memories, and even left his family an escape route. That counted. Not extortion—"service with value."
Still... this was too slow.
Tom sighed. The most profitable fields were always the same two: technology and finance. He intended to dip his hands into both.
---
Back on the island, the ice imprisoning the Aurors finally melted away. About fifteen minutes after Tom and Snape's departure, the ten Aurors stumbled out one by one.
They were shaking violently and half-frozen, but at least none of them were dead. The moment the frost seals broke, everyone's noses began to run uncontrollably.
"We're done for..."
Looking at Pettigrew's already cold corpse, every Auror—whether it was Dawlish, Kingsley Shacklebolt, or the others—felt their scalp go numb.
"Why would Death Eaters kill Peter Pettigrew?" someone asked, baffled.
Shacklebolt voiced his grim suspicion. "Because it was Pettigrew who leaked the Potters' location... and that's why the Dark Lord died. Those two Death Eaters were avenging their master."
But something gnawed at him. These two Death Eaters were terrifyingly strong. He couldn't match them with any of the Death Eaters who had escaped Azkaban.
"Let's get back and report to the Minister," Dawlish muttered with a shiver. He was pretty sure he was coming down with a nasty cold.
The others nodded without argument. They didn't even care about the Thestrals that had bolted—each of them Disapparated straight toward London.
...
When Fudge got the report, he felt like the sky was falling.
Death Eaters were still active?
His first instinct was to suppress the news. If word got out, panic would erupt—and he'd be the one taking the biggest hit.
He strictly ordered the Aurors to breathe a word of it to no one. In his panic, he still managed to make the one right decision—go to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, who was sorting through Grimmauld Place with Sirius, froze for several seconds when he heard the news.
"What is it, Professor?" Sirius asked, noticing the shift in his expression.
"Peter Pettigrew is dead," Dumbledore said, his voice heavy. "Two Death Eaters ambushed the escort on the way to Azkaban. Fortunately, the Aurors were only injured—no casualties."
Sirius went blank for a moment. Then he burst into laughter—wild, unstoppable laughter. He laughed so hard that tears ran down his face.
"Good. Good! He deserved it!"
Dumbledore gave a weary smile. He understood Sirius. Truthfully, he also thought Pettigrew's death wasn't much of a loss.
But the real issue was those two mysterious Death Eaters. To kill Pettigrew under the guard of ten Aurors... they were no ordinary enemies.
"Sirius, keep working here. I'm going to the site."
"Can I come?" Sirius quickly wiped his eyes. "I just want to see his body for myself. I won't get in your way."
Dumbledore hesitated. "Sorry. Fudge asked me to keep it secret. I have to go alone."
"Fine. Just... make sure it's really him," Sirius said, still uneasy.
Dumbledore nodded and, following the location Fudge had given him, Apparated to the island.
Hours had passed since the attack, yet the island was still frozen near zero degrees. Dumbledore could feel the lingering magic in the air, his expression tightening.
He could already picture it—the sheer force of the spell that had been cast here.
Golden dust flowed from the tip of the Elder Wand like a drifting veil, sweeping across the ground.
"Appare Vestigium."
As the shimmering dust moved, scenes began to form before Dumbledore's eyes...
.
.
.