Dolokhov was writhing on the floor. The Master was generous with Cruciatus curses. He didn't even spare those who had been recently freed. Just yesterday, Antonin was sitting in the stone tomb of Azkaban, watching the Dementors float by. Then they were pulled out. The one to whom he had sworn allegiance was terrible not only in anger. What must one do to return from the brink like that? A former womaniser, a pure-blood wizard and a powerful battle mage suddenly realised very clearly that he was now a slave. And his master was a real dark creature, most likely a leech. After they finally arrived at the manor, he was given many potions to drink. Antonina, like the others, had to be restored immediately and returned to the service of their master.
"Forgive me, Master," he did not excuse himself for the death of the Lestranges; the fact that he could not save them did not bother the Lord, who cast a torturous curse and took out his anger on him. The rescue of the loyal mages turned into a farce. No one counted the small pawns from the first and second floors. The catch was insignificant. The Carrows would be of no use to Voldemort. Even now, Alecto did not leave Amicus's bedside and told him fairy tales. After all, the consciousness of a five-year-old child lived in the body of a former prisoner. Malfoy's body was taken away and sent to distant relatives for burial. Today, the Lestranges were carried to the family crypt. Perhaps the Lord's mood would not have been so foul if, after the ceremony, the space around the pure-blooded family's manor had not begun to collapse and eject the Master of Destiny and his minions like cats that had soiled their master's slippers.
Now the Master rummaged through Dolokhov's memories, reviewing the last moments of his servants' lives. Dolokhov's head was splitting mercilessly; he would have to go and bow to Snape and ask him for his miracle potion. Although Antonin did not like the potions master. And considering that he had managed to remain free, he hated him quietly, waiting for the right moment.When the torture ended, Malfoy helped him up and led him to a room. The necessary potions were already on the table. Next to them was a piece of paper with instructions on how, when, and with what to take them. Collapsing onto the bed and grimacing unhappily at the unfamiliar softness, the wizard suddenly smiled broadly. He had succeeded. No one would ever find in his memories any mention of lectures about Rod or accepting help from O'Hanley. And yet it had turned into his life's duty. Silly boy. Now he would be target number three, after the boy who was still alive and the Great Light of England.
He wasn't worried about O'Keefe. Alec was always good at Occlumency. And a woman in love would never betray Patrick's son.
"Hot coals for you, Bella. That's where you belong." Consciousness finally faded, the potions began to take effect, and the convulsions stopped shaking the magician's tortured body.
"Come here, my joy, closer, closer," the grey acromantula, the size of a medium-sized dog, approached me across the clearing. "A cute little pet won't hurt anyone," I croaked, mimicking Hagrid. I may have read those words in a book, but that didn't stop me from hating the stupid half-giant whose pets destroyed everything in their path.
"Seko. Seko. Fuck you. The severed pair of legs did not prevent the arachnid from accelerating towards me." "Bombarda." I looked around cautiously. Were there any other members of this large family here?
It was quiet around me, and the feeling of danger had subsided. So I spat again, gathered the creature's remains and hid them in one of the bags. I'm going to be short of money now. I was certain that the price on my head had gone up, but by how much? I took out a pack of cigarettes and slowly lit one. I wanted something to chew on; I couldn't lie around for long. I had enough food to last a couple of days, even if I stretched it out, but after that I would have to go hunting.
"Nine hundred gold. Poor boy," Madame Sprout clapped her hands and reached for a bottle of sedative. Filius, noticing firewhisky instead of tea in Snape's cup, moved closer. The half-goblin didn't like tea, and he disliked lemon slices even more.
"Poor Patrick," Sinistra was a young teacher, but she still remembered the crippled badger. He was a very diligent and quiet young man.
"I see death." Under the sceptical glances of those around her, Trelawney took a swig of sherry straight from the bottle. Dumbledore grimaced in disapproval and waved his wand, and all the alcohol in the office disappeared. Now the charms and potions teachers looked gloomy.
"We must help the boy," said Madam Sprout with a fighting spirit. She always cared deeply for her students. Especially after last year's tragedy with Cedric. The woman blamed herself for not looking after her student properly.
"He killed prisoners, four wizards fell by his hand," Albus said, shaking his head in disapproval. His glasses still glinted, but those present sensed that the Great Wizard had no intention of giving him a second chance.
"That hasn't been proven. The Prophet says that the Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban themselves," Sinistra protested.
"And the Quibbler wrote the truth, that they were freed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," confirmed the Herbology professor. She was on good terms with the Lovegoods and, despite their eccentricities, could always get to the bottom of things.
"But we know," interrupted the headmaster, cutting off the commotion, "how it really was." Everyone glanced sideways at Snape. Everyone knew about his mark, and many had noticed that he sometimes broke down and left the school at any time of the day or night. But under Dumbledore's wing, it was better to keep quiet.
A few hours later, when the gathering that was supposed to be a teachers' council finally dispersed, Filius Flitwick headed for his quarters. It was time to contact his real superiors. It was time for the report, and the elders did not like to wait. It was deadly for anyone who did so. The half-goblin wondered whether to add his thoughts on Albus Dumbledore's actions. After all, his dissatisfaction with the death of four Death Eaters from the Dark Lord's Inner Circle was all too obvious. Did he have plans for them? After reviewing his motives and possible evidence several more times, the master of charms decided to stick to the facts. After all, all goblins know that silence is golden.
Minister Fudge was a clever wizard, but a cowardly one. He had done a lot to achieve his coveted position and hoped to remain in it for as long as possible. But those manticore-bred brats, damn them, were constantly putting obstacles in his way. And then there was that harpy Umbridge. Remembering his "loyal" assistant, the man shrugged. The woman may be considered missing, but the wizards of the Department of Mysteries had brought him to identify her body. He only remembered a few images; he did not recognise the witch in her remains. Her identity was confirmed thanks to the remnants of her magical aura, which lasts for forty days, and several pieces of pink fabric. No matter what anyone said after that about giving magical creatures rights, not even a large bribe would change his opinion. Dark creatures should not be given a chance to get close to ordinary people. Anyone who can do that to a living creature is not worthy of life. Even Avada was more merciful many times over.
"Mordred," he wanted to drink and forget, but that would be too stupid, especially now. The Ministry was literally reeling from internal strife and backroom deals. Voldemort was back, there was no doubt about it. Fudge regretted that he had believed Umbridge and the other sycophants at the time and allowed himself to be deceived. He could have done so much more, even if not always with his own hands. But now it was too late, almost critically so. All that remained was to save his own life.
"Handsome," Cornelius snorted, looking at the case of O'Henley, which was highly classified and full of surprises. Patrick was a bastard, and what's more, a Lestrange. And when he entered Hogwarts at the age of eleven, his appearance alone caused a real storm. Just like his father. It got worse. Pure-blooded creatures burned his magical blood. And that would have been the end of the story of the unlucky boy, but then He, the Light of Magical England, intervened. He conducted another experiment, and although the attempt was considered unsuccessful, the little wizard turned out to be resilient. And terribly ugly. Initially, the ritual, burning out his magical core and channels, twisted not only the magical but also the physical components of his body. Fudge reread the notes of the magicians of the Department of Mysteries, trying to figure out what had happened and why. One way or another, the "loser" made it to his final year. And yet, a very handsome reward had been offered for his head. Now Cornelius was looking at a small sheet of paper where, as minister, he had to sign his name and declare the miraculously surviving boy a criminal. After an internal investigation, it turned out that Patrick, having worked in Azkaban security for three years, had killed four Death Eaters just before the Dark Wizard's attack. Cornelius laughed; he could understand O'Henley's actions and would have gladly given some of them a taste of Avada Kedavra himself. But something else annoyed him. The initiator of this document, which would outlaw the guard, was Albus Dumbledore himself. And he knew somehow what had happened in that damned Azkaban. Fudge was confident in the guys from the Department of Mysteries; after several Death Eaters had been exposed there, a massive purge had taken place. There were no traitors left. None. This means that the headmaster has his own sources of information. Fudge grimaced and cast a veto spell over the entire sheet. Then he wrote a few more papers.
"For his heroism and prevention of the escape of particularly dangerous criminals, I award Patrick O'Henley a monetary reward of 1,000 Galleons." What better way to end the day than by doing something nasty to the Great Light? The decree was immediately sent to the secretary. Cornelius began writing notes and letters that would help restore some justice to the existing chaos in the future.
"For involvement in the particularly brutal murder of Dolores Umbridge, I request that the following underage wizards be taken into custody: G. Granger and G. Potter." He would never forgive such behaviour from his subordinate, even if she was not the best woman, but who was stopping them from writing complaints about her to the whole school and sending them to him? He was the Minister and could not personally check all the cases. Umbridge sent him good reports, Albus hardly ever complained and even approved of some of her initiatives. And now Fudge has to clean up the mess. He would have arrested and broken the minds of several particularly zealous underage wizards who had gone too far. But the same guys from the Department of Mysteries asked him not to interfere. They had calculated the probabilities and confirmed that there would be unrest, but the Dark Lord would not be able to rule for long. And teenagers with monstrous luck and nothing less than the direct patronage of Magic itself would play a major role in this. Also, thanks to calculations, it was possible to draw up a rough picture of how future events would unfold. It turned out that Dumbledore would go to the Pure World a little earlier than Voldemort. So Cornelius had to keep quiet, long and hard, playing along with the great light and putting up with the arrogance of the former Death Eaters.
"Keep an eye on S. Snape. He is the only Death Eater loyal to the headmaster, and it is possible that information is being leaked through him." Another portkey note was sent to the Department of Mysteries, while the Minister prepared for the final acts of his speech and prayed to the Great Magic in the hope of surviving all this chaos.
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