Chapter 18: Beholden of Vengeance

Things are starting to pick up from here on out. Some reasonably dark things in this chapter but nothing too evocative. All well-deserved, I'm sure you'll agree, well, mostly.

Anyway, follow, favourite and review as usual guys.

TBR

"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... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

The shattered remains of the orb vanished with a wave of his wand as a frown marred his features. He hadn't expected much if any closure from hearing it but it revealed very little. There was no longer any question that it pertained to himself and Tom, that lingering doubt eliminated the moment he pulled it from the shelf within the Hall of Prophecies.

Though quite the burden to bear, the retrieval had been rather anticlimactic. The Department of Mysteries had turned out to be one of the worst kept secrets in Wizarding Britain. That didn't stop the grey-robed men that had accosted himself and his grandfather upon entering through the simplicity of a short elevator ride from being surprised and more than a little offended by their arrival. One would think if things of such import and danger were housed there, it would have been keenly protected.

Though it would have been time consuming and undoubtedly more inconvenient, Harry could have located the Hall of Prophecies without the wary entourage that had insisted on leading him through the department with little difficulty.

It mattered not. He had done as promised and taken the thrice-damned thing, ensuring that Tom Riddle would never hear it, not that him knowing the contents would truly change anything. Tom wanted him dead and the haunting words of the woman would not deter the man, nor Harry. The prophecy was meaningless to him. He wanted the man to suffer already and he needed no further prompt to spur him towards that end.

A gentle knock sounded on his door and he stood from the polished ebony desk, stretched and approached. The house itself was as opulent as one would expect from the Blacks and his room was no different. The dark, hardwood furniture, the thick carpet beneath his feet and the enormous bed were a welcome change from his lodgings within the castle. This room had belonged to Regulus Black and Harry had to admit, the man had taste.

He opened the door to be greeted by the sight of his grandfather. The man had insisted on him hearing the prophecy alone so that he could digest the contents and decide if there need to be changes to the plans in motion.

Arcturus shot him an expectant look and Harry shook his head.

"It changes nothing. We proceed as planned," he confirmed.

The Black patriarch nodded, trusting his heir to judge the situation.

"Good. We will make our planned trip tonight and you will meet with Rita in the morning to get the ball rolling."

"What if she does not agree to publish it?"

"She would be a fool not to," Arcturus growled. "Worry not, Harry, things will be more in our favour when the article is published. You have my word on that."

Harry believed him. Fudge may think that he has somehow gotten the better of them but he knew his grandfather, knew the way that his mind worked. He was planning something for the Minister and Harry had little doubt that the man would soon be disposed of.

"In that case, I think I will go and check on Tonks. See if there is anything she needs."

Arcturus simply shook his head in amusement as Harry left, a slight smirk gracing his lips. For a long time, he'd been worried the boy would forever forego a relationship, thus bringing the Black line to an end. He'd never demonstrate any interest in the opposite sex, not until he had met the clumsy auror. He'd struggled with the mixed emotions he'd experienced at the developing affection between the two. Her mother had been cast out of the family and she was not a pureblood. Any doubts he had about the girl's motives had been laid to rest rather quickly. It was clear her feelings for Harry were genuine and against the odds, she had earned his respect and approval. He himself had grown rather fond of his great-granddaughter. She had proven herself much more a Black than he could have imagined. Clearly, Andromeda had instilled many of the family values within the girl.

He turned and headed towards the kitchen, the need to sit making itself known in his tired bones. In his younger years, he was active and spent hours on his feet. Now, it seemed only mere minutes in an upright position played havoc on his body. Never did he imagine that the years would catch up to him the way they had. It had only gotten worse with the passing of his wife and he suspected that restoring the family to a semblance of its' former glory was the only thing that had kept him going so long. The arrival of Harry had only been a boon to him, gave him further reason to continue. Had the boy never graced his home the night Sirius cradled his broken body in his arms and proven himself over the years to be a suitable successor, he likely would have passed on, a failed and bitter man, his family in ruin.

Harry had given him a reason to carry on, to delay the inevitable end. The cold grip of death that had clung to his shoulder had loosened for a time, but now, he could slowly feel it tightening once more. He felt it in the aches that plagued him and the odd moments that clarity was absent in his thoughts. He was old and tired but even the looming reaper could not shift the satisfaction he felt at knowing his family would be left in the capable hands of his chosen. Death would come for him but the family legacy would continue, resting on one that could be the best of all that had worn the ring that currently adorned his finger.

Harry would stand above them all, of that, he was certain.

(BREAK)

The former Rosier property was decorated in a much lighter tone than that of Grimmauld Place and was much more welcoming on the eyes. The absence of House-Elves heads and macabre fixtures was a far cry from any of the other Black properties, one of the deciding factors in selecting this house for the Tonks' to stay in. Not only that, it had been warded by Cygnus Black himself, an obsessive paranoid if there ever was one.

Harry arrived in one of the parlour rooms via the floo and cleared away the accumulated ash with a wave of his wand. He'd never enjoyed this method of travel and it sat at the bottom of the list of the way he would arrive at a destination. It had taken months of practice to maintain his balance and even now, it was something he had to focus on lest he were to fall flat on his face. On more than one occasion he done so and it was not an experience he wanted to repeat.

"Harry?" Tonks greeted him with her wand drawn.

He laughed as he held up his hands.

"I've told you, Dora, only myself and your parents can enter this property."

Tonks huffed as she slid her wand up her sleeve.

"I know, but we can't be too careful."

Harry sighed as he pulled her into his arms.

"How are you mum and dad?"

Tonks shrugged.

"They're doing okay. Dad is at the office collecting all the files they'll need for work."

Harry nodded.

"I will ward the office as best I can," he assured her. "I'll give them emergency portkeys too."

"Thank you," Tonks replied with a smile. "So, what brings you here? Did you miss me that much?" she asked with a wink.

"Not even in the slightest," he quipped. "I was just checking that you hadn't blown the house up."

Tonks shot him an unimpressed look as she raised a single brow in his direction.

"Best you be on your way then. The house is fine, as you can see," she replied as she pulled herself from his arms and made to leave the room.

Harry prevented her exit by grabbing hold of her sleeve eliciting a snort from the metamorph.

"Of course, I missed you. I don't like sleeping in a bed without you. I've gotten used to having you snoring next to me."

"Then you'd best not make a habit of leaving me all alone," she returned with a grin.

Harry pulled her back into his arms as Andromeda stepped into the room.

"Not that I don't appreciate what you have done for us, Harry, but I'd rather you didn't manhandle my daughter in front of me. Save that for when you're alone."

"Mum," Tonks chastised as Harry blushed and began sputtering a protestation.

Andromeda simply chuckled at the pair.

"I know what you teenagers get up to. I was your age once. How do you think you got here when I was younger than you, Dora?"

It was Tonks turn to blush as she grimaced at the image of her parents doing what her and Harry had yet to.

"Ergh, there goes my appetite," she grumbled.

"Don't be such a prude, Nymphadora," Andromeda chuckled. "Myself and your father have a very happy and loving relationship."

"And on that note, we are leaving," Tonks announced. "Are you sure you don't have another house I can stay in?" she asked Harry as she pulled him from the room.

Harry could only laugh at her mortification.

Tonks led him through the house and up the stairs, into a room she had taken up residence in. Judging by the amount of clothing and other items strewn around, she was in the process of unpacking.

She mumbled unhappily under her breath as she pushed a pile of clothes onto the floor.

"I hate folding clothes!"

Harry grinned as he removed his wand and flicked it in the direction of the discarded mound, folding it neatly with minimal effort into arranged piles of trousers, tops and undergarments.

"Show off," she muttered.

"It's not difficult," Harry returned, reining in another bout of laughter.

"I can't do household charms," Tonks admitted with a shrug. "I've never been good at them. Drives mum mad."

"Cassie made me learn them," Harry explained. "She said she was tired of cleaning up after me and that it was about time I started doing it for myself. She made me spend a week in my room practicing them when I was eleven."

Tonks grimaced at the thought. Her mother had not taken that step with her.

"Looks like I have no reason to start learning them now," she sighed, stretching and resting her legs across his lap.

Harry quirked an eyebrow in her direction and she smiled innocently at him. He held her gaze for a moment before shaking his head in amusement. Tonks had certainly shown her displeasure towards anything resembling domestic bliss. He vividly remembered the one time she had tried to cook for them both. He'd returned to her room after a long day of training to find her dishevelled, a pungent aroma of burning food and a set of pans that were completely ruined. Tonks had been sat on the sofa, her countenance suggesting she had endured a traumatic experience.

She hadn't tried cooking anything since and Harry couldn't help but think her avoiding the kitchen was a good idea. He let out a sigh, the reason for him coming here wasn't as innocent as he'd intended. He was about to undertake something potentially very dangerous and he had promised he would tell her when he planned to do such a thing.

"What is it?" she questioned, noticing his change of demeanour.

Harry released a deep breath as he shrugged.

"Myself and my grandfather our going on an outing tonight," he began wearily. "He thinks he has found something that is important to putting an end to Voldemort and we are going to retrieve it."

Tonks nodded as she worried her lip.

"Is it going to get you killed?"

Harry shook his head.

"Unlikely, but it's probably going to be dangerous. I just wanted to let you know."

She gave him a sad smile.

"Just, be careful."

She knew there was nothing she could do to deter him from the path he had chosen. He was stubborn to a fault but that was one of the things she admired about him. For one so young, he certainly didn't waver because of the words or disapproval of others.

"I will be," he promised as he placed a kiss on her brow.

(BREAK)

Arcturus entered the room he had chosen to keep Barty Crouch Jr captive, the smell of urine and faeces assaulting his senses, wrinkling his nose in distaste. In many ways, finding yourself a prisoner of the Blacks was much worse than what Azkaban had to offer. Of course, a Dementor or two wouldn't go amiss to ensure maximal misery, but Arcturus had other ways to crush the human spirit and he was not subject to the same rules and regulations as those that guarded the island fortress.

Here, he was the judge, the jury and the executioner by his design. Conditions were as good as he decided they would be and as bad as what he felt was justified. Crouch deserved none of the former. He had provoked the patriarch of the Black family in ways that were unforgivable, and for his transgressions, he would pay in blood at the very least.

The man trembled in his chair, absent of his clothes and limbs chained to keep him in place. He had purposely chilled the room to be deeply uncomfortable. Nothing that would cause permanent damage but as a constant reminder to Crouch that he was held at the pleasure of Arcturus Orion Black.

He let out a whimper, the cold doing little for the welts, cuts and broken bones that had been administered to him at the hands of his gaoler who was smirking at the pitiful figure he presented.

"Wakey, wakey, Crouch," Arcturus jeered as he sprayed the man with icy water from his wand, rousing him into clarity.

The glare he received in return was baleful and Arcturus simply grinned in response.

"My master will kill you, Black," Crouch spat.

Arcturus closed the distance between the pair in two steps and seized the man by the hair roughly.

"Your master's days are numbered you little shit. He picked the wrong family to mess with this time. Even as we speak, my heir lives and breathes and sent the man whose arse you pucker up for into hiding and licking his wounds," he growled. "You are very much mistaken if it us that need fear the half-blood bastard. He should fear what Harry will do to him," he whispered before driving his fist into Barty's stomach.

Crouch wheezed as the air was driven from his lungs, the already broken ribs causing him to wince at the force behind the blow. He coughed and his mouth filled with taste of iron.

"I won't tell you anything," he declared breathlessly.

Arcturus smirked as he shrugged off his robes and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He had expected as much, had even looked forward to the defiance. He wanted to break the man's will, have him begging for mercy as he cleared his conscience of all the information he held. Then and only then would he be satisfied. He could get what he wanted through Veritaserum but there was little joy to be had in that. No, such a tactic would not do. He wanted the man to suffer so much that he became pliable to his will, prostrated himself before him and pleaded for mercy. He would get none here. All that awaited Barty Crouch Jr was pain beyond pain and the easing of his own mind as he relieved himself of what the other man wanted.

"Have it your way," Arcturus shrugged as he levelled his wand at the man. "Crucio."

The first of many screams to follow was ripped from his throat as he thrashed against the chains that bound him, and even under the first onslaught, he questioned how long he could endure this before he inevitably broke.

(BREAK)

Harry returned to Grimmauld Place early in the evening as the rest of the family were sitting down for dinner. Sirius appeared visibly pleased by his arrival, shooting a frustrated look towards each of the older Blacks.

The atmosphere between Cassiopeia and Arcturus had been frosty at best, the former still unwilling to accept the course of action her brother had taken with her apprentice and failing to consult her on the matter. The latter was being himself, ignoring the burning glare of the woman. Cassie would get no apologies from the man no matter how hard she tried to immolate him with her eyes.

"Are you ready for our little venture?" Arcturus questioned as he took his seat to the right of him.

Harry nodded as he took in the countenance of his grandfather. He was suspiciously pleased, his steely, grey orbs unable to conceal either some mirth or victory had. Whatever it was, the look adorning his features never boded well for another.

"Is there anything else I need to know?"

Arcturus answered in the negative with a shake of his head.

"The place is quiet. It doesn't look like anyone has been there for years. We should have all the time in the world."

"Unless we trigger an alert ward," Harry pointed out as he began tucking into a large piece of chicken. "I can imagine old Tom wouldn't be too happy to find us there."

Arcturus smirked.

"Wouldn't that just play into your hands if he did?"

Harry's nostrils flared, his anger beginning to bubble under the surface of his skin. As much as he wanted this plan to succeed without hindrance, Tom arriving would be a gift he would not decline.

"It would," he admitted, "but it isn't enough. Just killing him will not satisfy me. I want him to suffer every indignity possible before that comes."

Arcturus nodded proudly.

"Then finish up and meet me in the study. Bring anything you think we will need."

"What about him?" Harry asked, jerking a finger in Sirius's direction.

"It couldn't hurt," Arcturus mused aloud. "We leave in fifteen minutes."

The man left the room to make whatever preparations he deemed necessary whilst Harry finished off his meal, his father staring at him questioningly.

"I would like you there, just in case something goes wrong," Harry answered the unasked question. "It feels like we haven't spent much time together recently."

Sirius smiled.

His final statement was true. The pair had spent very little time together since the farce of the tournament came into their lives. He was happy that Harry was moving on in many ways, but he had missed the time he usually spent with the boy. It had made him begin to consider his own life. It wouldn't be long before he was no longer needed as he once was. Harry would become the head of the family and Sirius would be left to stagnate. He hadn't raised his thoughts or worries. Harry had other things he needed to focus on but it was a conversation they would need to be had in the future. Sirius just needed to work out what it was he wanted himself.

They finished their meal in companionable silence and exited the room together leaving Cassie to wallow in her own anger as they headed to where Arcturus was waiting for him.

"Is there anything else you think we will need to take?" Sirius asked nervously.

Harry could understand his disposition. His father had born witness to more of what Tom had done during the previous war than himself and his grandfather combined.

"We will be okay, Dad," he assured the man.

"How can you be so casual about all of this?" Sirius pressed irritably.

Harry paused and gave the man a smile.

"Because I'll have you with me."

The confident words warmed his heart. It had felt like a lifetime had passed since he'd felt needed by Harry. He shook himself from his thoughts and followed his son who had continued on his way without Sirius being aware.

Harry knocked on the door to the study and entered, finding Arcturus sat behind the desk, lost in his thoughts.

"Are you ready?" Harry called, pulling the man from his stupor.

"It is you that needs to be ready," Arcturus returned as he pushed himself to his feet. "We will be there to watch over you but it will be down to you to bring down the wards."

Harry frowned. It was becoming a common occurrence for Arcturus to take a more supporting role in things they did together. He pushed those thoughts aside; it certainly was not the time to dwell on them. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

"Where is it we are heading?"

"Little Hangleton," Arcturus announced. "To what remains of the once great house of Gaunt."

With the destination given, he disappeared with a gentle pop.

Returning to the village his brother had been murdered in was not an experience he was looking forward to. If he had his way, he would never darken the streets of the place with his shadow again. However, Arcturus was convinced it was a necessity and he would not shirk his responsibilities because it may provoke an unfavourable response within him.

"Let's get this over with," he sighed as he seized Sirius under one arm and disapparated, using the family ring to take him to where his grandfather had travelled to.

Arriving, a familiar and unwelcome scent reached him from somewhere in the distance. Though unwelcome, it caused a slight, satisfied smile to tug at his lips. It was the smell of burning and the memory of Tom being trapped within his flames surfaced.

"The house is this way," Arcturus interrupted his musings as he pointed towards the road that led away from the village.

It was still early in the evening but there were no people of which to speak on the streets. The small collection of properties they did pass were lively and Harry suspected most would be sitting down to their own meals. It only made his task more the easier. It meant that he would not have to obliviate any muggles that may happen upon them.

The trio walked a considerable distance away from the dwellings, following the road that seemed to only lead further into the rural surroundings of the village. It was around ten minutes into the walk that Harry paused, feeling a strong presence permeating the air from ahead.

"What is it?" Sirius questioned, drawing his wand protectively.

"Wards," Harry muttered as he frowned, carefully continuing towards where he felt the magic.

"You can feel it from here?"

Harry nodded.

"Tom's magic is familiar to me. It almost feels that there's something there trying to lure me towards it," he added as an afterthought.

"Do you think we should be doing this?" Sirius asked, looking towards Arcturus worriedly.

The older man nodded.

"Continue, Harry."

Harry proceeded towards where the magic was strongest, finding himself stood in front of a hedge. In the smallest of gaps, he could see what appeared to be little more than a dilapidated shack on the other side, the ward line reached to a little in front of where he was and he held up a hand to prevent Arcturus and Sirius from coming any closer.

The magic was undoubtedly Tom's but felt almost like his own in a way that made him uncomfortable. It was a feeling he knew well, a feeling that had resided within him ever since he had been cured as a boy. He'd always been able to feel the magic of the Blacks and even the Potters, both powerful and easily differentiated because of how dissimilar they were. There had always been something else within him, however, and what he felt in these wards was just that. He had always known there was something else about him, something that didn't belong but something that had become as much a part of him as the magic of those that had sired him and those that had adopted him through blood. Once upon a time, he found the presence of the other abhorrent and the need to purge it from had been overwhelming. Such a thing he learnt, was not possible. Over the years it had assimilated itself, the other magics that belonged accepting it as part of them collectively. The relationship between the three had been volatile at first, each wishing to assert its' will upon the other two. It left him struggling with practical work, thus his time spent in Ireland as a young boy. With time, whatever conflict within him had settled and the magics worked steadily in tandem with one another, making him all the stronger for it.

He pulled himself from his thoughts and drew his wand, carefully aiming it in the direction of the wards. With only a few muttered phrases, he felt them begin to react unfavourably towards him. The magic began to wrap around him, blanketing him in a feeling of despair, suffocating and pulling the air from his lungs.

"Stop," he hissed angrily, slipping into parseltongue.

It was as though the magic had been caught in the act of something it should not be doing as it froze, almost waiting to be given further instruction on how the situation would proceed.

"Get off."

The pressure around him eased as the wards retreated, allowing him to breathe freely. He turned and faced Arcturus and Sirius both returning his gaze with concern marring their features. He waved them off as he turned towards the wards and pointed his wand in the direction once again. He cast the same diagnostic charms, this time using the language that had been gifted to him and the magic remained dormant, much to his relief. In only a few moments of work, he found himself slightly disappointed, the ego of Tom knowing no bounds with how much he relied on his own use of parseltongue to protect something of such importance.

"It's done," he sighed after a final hiss, collapsing the scheme with a simple command.

"That's it?" Arcturus questioned.

Harry shrugged almost apologetically.

"Tom is under the impression he's the only one left. Either that or he truly is so arrogant to the point of stupidity."

"If it benefits us, it doesn't matter," Arcturus dismissed.

Harry could only shake his head as he carved a path through the neglected shrubbery and crossed onto the property, followed cautiously by his companions. He could feel nothing else in or around the garden but the sense of foreboding stayed with him. Perhaps it was not only the wards protecting this place. Whatever else there was, was within the remains of the house itself, so that was where he proceeded, wand still drawn and ready to be called upon if needed.

"There's something in the house," he whispered, just loudly enough to be heard.

"Do you know what it is?" Arcturus asked, placing an arm out to his side to prevent Sirius moving further forward.

"I have an idea," Harry replied as he continued his approach towards the building.

Whatever was in the house was calling to him as though he were an old friend, drawing him closer with a gentle caressing across his very being. It was strong, convincing and had Harry not put up his occlumency shields as tightly as possible, it may have succeeded in manipulating his senses. Even as the almost soothing touch of whatever dwelled within the house intensified to an almost uncomfortable vibrating, he held firm. He would not allow any construct of Tom get the better of him.

Ensuring that the door had not been cursed or tampered with in any way, he drove his foot into it, splintering the wood and tearing it off its' hinges with a single blow. A cloud of dust erupted from the floor and Harry cast a bubble-head charm over himself to avoid breathing it in. It would not do to fall victim to such a simple thing as cursed particles.

When everything settled, he steeled himself as he entered what remained of the house of Gaunt and stared almost in sympathy at the depravity the family had endured in its' final years. The furniture had long ago rotted and gave off a musty smell matched only by the decaying wood, rusted fixtures and collapsed roof in one corner of the living area. Time had not been kind to this place. Even with magic, little could be salvaged from here.

"Have you found anything?" the voice of his grandfather interrupted his musings.

Whatever was pulling him in was more prominent in the room, the feeling tainting him in an all too familiar way. For many years as a child, this feeling had clung to him, unable to be washed away. It was a dirty feeling, as though a stain that did not belong resided within him. This room permeated that very feeling and the slightest bit that had scarred him, even after the incident in the Egyptian tomb, reared its' head, calling to the familiar essence surrounding him.

He swallowed deeply. He had long since pondered what had caused the issues with his magic as a boy. As he grew older, he knew it had to have been something so sinister that even his family would not discuss it with him. They had tried to pass it off as a simple magical malady but he had found it hard to believe. No malady he had come across left any in such a state that he had been in and he had checked every tome he could lay his hands on, even the most obscure in the family library. It was when he had been fourteen that he stumbled upon what he once was whilst perusing a work titled Secrets of the Darkest Art.

He had been looking for any mention of the spells he had knowledge of without ever having learned or come across them when his attention was grabbed by a section headed as 'On Horcruxes'.

It was as though something resonated within him when he read the word Horcrux and he was compelled to read it. He was certain he had heard it somewhere but his memory failed him. Instead of dwelling on it, he decided to keep reading to see if the explanation would jog his memory. It did, though not in a way he had been expecting.

The more he read, the more a picture began to form in his mind until a scene unfolded before him, a scene he witnessed when he was but a toddler. He vividly remembered the man clad in a dark cloak, his pale skin and red eyes reflecting off the moonlight pouring in through the window. The man had spoken to him, praised him for not cowering at his feet. He had watched as the man turned his attention to the younger boy in the other cot before he went about the task of burning some strange symbols into the floor with a bone-white wand. The work had been considerable and left the man rather breathless but he had stood tall nonetheless and aimed the wand at the still-sleeping infant. He watched as his younger self jumped in front of the strange, green light, his only thought being to prevent what was happening to his brother. A scream of agony tore through the room as everything faded to black leaving him none the wiser as to where it had originated from.

The memory had left him trembling and he had put the book back on the shelf, unwilling or unable to admit what had become of him at such a tender age. For weeks and months, he had pondered what he had learnt, denying the truth that he had unwittingly found. As much as he had wished he could continue living in blissful ignorance, he could not. Everything that had happened to him, everything that he had seen pointed only to one conclusion. Though he was sure it had never been Tom's intention, he had turned him into a living, breathing Horcrux.

"I'm still looking," he answered the older man.

He had never spoken of his findings with any. He knew that his family had wished to protect him from the knowledge of what he had been but it mattered not any longer. What had happened to him was in the past and that was where he had intended on leaving it. He had succeeded until Tom had taken it upon himself to draw him back into his old life, rekindling some rivalry that Harry had never wanted. The man had gotten what he wanted after all. He had poked and prodded, finally murdering the same boy he had try to protect when he had been not even old enough or capable to use a wand. It was different now. Harry was no longer a defenceless boy and Tom Riddle would rue the day he ambled back into his life.

Shaking his head of thoughts, he began carefully walking to where the unwelcome feeling felt strongest and found himself peering down at an innocuous floorboard. With a flick of his wand, the board pulled away from the others with a loud snap, revealing a shallow hole. Creating a ball of light, he guided it to hover over the opening, illuminating a small jewellery box nestled in the bottom. As he levitated it out, it attempted to wrest itself from his grasp, only for Harry to tighten the magical hold he had over it and with only a few muttered spells, he quickly deduced the box was no threat to him. What the box contained however, was not so placid.

As he reduced the container to ash with a ball of flame, the full effect of what resided within was felt. He slammed down his occlumency shields, fighting against the pull of the magic with all his might. As the heir of Black, he had been tutored extensively in Compulsion Charms and this was as powerful as any he had been exposed to before. The urge to reach out and place the now visible ring on his finger was overwhelming but he gritted his teeth against the draw and levelled his wand towards it, his arms trembling against the conflict being fought within his mind. He sighed in relief as his aim was true and the compulsion faded as his counter curse collided with the ring, sending it to the floor with a metallic thud.

Releasing a deep breath, he hunched over and cast a diagnostic charm, his relief growing as the imbued withering curse was revealed. He certainly had no desire to feel the effects of that particular spell. It was a slow death at best with very few able to counter it once it had come into contact with a person. On an object however, it was elementary to remove if one was practiced in the darker aspects of magic. With that dealt with, he delved deeper into the ring and found two very conflicting magics, both fighting for dominance over the other.

He frowned. The ring was saturated in Tom's magic but there was something else within it, both calling to him equally. His experiences of a such feeling had rarely been pleasant and he had little desire risk anything when it came to the Dark Lord.

The ring began to positively vibrate as he took aim for a final time, seemingly attempting to escape on its' own volition.

"Fiendfyre," he muttered, focusing on maintaining control of the summoned basilisk as it devoured the ring, eliciting an ear-splitting screech as it went about its' task.

Instinctively, Harry covered his ears and the fiery serpent vanished, the screech echoing only a second or so longer before it too faded to nothingness. His attention was caught quickly by the sound of running feet, his father and grandfather storming into the room, wands in hand.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Arcturus questioned, scanning the carnage for any imminent danger.

"It's done," Harry returned breathily.

"Are you sure it was one?"

"Completely," Harry answered.

There was no doubt in his mind of what he had encountered, the magic too known to him having carried it for so many years himself.

"Good," Arcturus praised. "That's one less of the damned things out there. Now let's leave before we are discovered. That was one hell of a racket that thing made."

Harry nodded and made to follow, pausing at the door as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His gaze turned towards the blackened spot on the floor where the ring had been destroyed and a small pile of ash remained. When he approached, it turned out not to be ash but a small, black stone, the same magic he felt that hadn't been Tom's in the ring oozing from it.

"Unbelievable," he whispered.

Anything that was touch by the cursed flames no longer existed, this he knew. He had studied the fire extensively and there was nothing that had ever survived direct contact from it. Whatever this stone was, it was one of a kind, of that he had no doubt.

Hurriedly, he cast a few spells to ensure that it was safe before picking it up, his eyebrows raising at the way the magic almost embraced his own. Not having the time to ponder it further, he pocketed it, intending on investigating it in the privacy of his room and joined Arcturus and Sirius outside the shack.

"Are you alright?" his father questioned.

"Yeah," Harry dismissed. "Just tired."

"Then we shall head home and keep our heads down for a few days. The shit is going to hit the fan after you speak to Rita tomorrow so it will do us good to let it blow over," Arcturus suggested with a smirk.

Harry could only agree with the older man. What he had to say would not please many, though he couldn't care less. He wasn't doing this for anyone other than himself, his future and the future that had been taken from his little brother.

(BREAK)

Time in the prison crawled at an unbearably slow pace. Had he not had his wand to hand, he would have believed he had been here for weeks. Sleep was nigh on impossible, the few minutes snatched here or there fitful and disturbed by either the ever-present cold or a scream from one of the inmates. Azkaban was a miserable place and the misery only deepened the longer one spent within its' walls.

The exhaustion was beginning to take its' toll on him both mentally and physically. He could feel his body weaken from depravity of rest and the poor diet. Three times a day a bowl of unidentifiable slop would appear in the cell and vanish the moment the tasteless meal was consumed. Leo was fortunate he had the chocolate, something he was relying on more and more as the hours passed. Had it not been available, the task he had been given would have been all but impossible.

He'd mustered the energy over the past two days to visit three other Death Eater's, though his efforts bore no fruit. Thorfinn Rowle was little more than a buffoon, albeit a dangerous one. He was an impressive duellist for one that lacked intellect and had barely been graced with a greeting from his master during his years of service. Leo could not fathom the level of loyalty he had to the man when he scarcely benefited from such devotion.

His visit with the LeStrange brothers had been nothing short of sickening. Both men had proclivities towards those whom they targeted during their attacks. Sexual violence towards men, women and children that could not defend themselves was their forte. What Leo had seen these monster commit would forever stain his memories. He had promised Arcturus he would not kill anyone and his word was sorely tested with these two. He didn't leave them unharmed, however. Neither would ever be able to indulge in their perversions again. A mixture of impotence, infertility and shrinking charms had put a stop to that, the savage blow to the jaw just an addition for his own gratification.

Again, neither had found themselves far enough in the Dark Lord's good graces to warrant being made privy to anything worthwhile. Both were but bootlickers with an inclination and even talent for instilling fear through their disgusting acts, neither much of a thinker in any regard.

Leo released a deep breath as he placed another square of chocolate in his mouth, allowing it to melt across his tongue and revelling in the warmth it gave him, however temporary.

There were others he had to see and the quicker his work was carried out, the quicker he could leave this place, though he doubted he would ever be completely the way he was. Azkaban changed people and he could feel it changing him. Perhaps it was merely the permanent cold and despair that plagued the prisoners or what he had seen in the mind of those he had invaded thus far. What he did know was that there was someone waiting for him on the outside, a sparkle in the darkness that shrouded him, but something worth clinging to. So long as he had that, he knew he could make it.

He simply had to.

(BREAK)

Cornelius Oswald Fudge could only stare at the morning's edition of the Daily Prophet, his eyes bulging humourlessly at the headline on the front page, his skin purpling in rage as he gaped at the audacity of the Skeeter woman. She had always been known for her gossip, defaming well-respected members of the Wizengamot or those in the limelight. This, however, went too far. Even by Skeeter's standards, this was reckless and would spell the end of her career.

Despite this, Cornelius felt a trickle of fear work its' way down his spine before he removed his bowler hat and fiddled with it nervously. It could not be true, any of it. Black was trying to turn people away from the truth, that he had murdered his brother in cold blood. That was the only thing that made sense. He had kept the death of the boy out of the media so that the case against Black could be built, He had been grateful for the past few days of quiet on the matter, pleased that the Potters had not attempted to publish anything themselves, as yet. He knew that it was inevitable that the news would break eventually but he had planned accordingly for that. He could have spun it in a way that made him appear sensitive and helping the family bring the killer of their son to justice. He had not prepared for this, not expecting lies to this extent from even the notorious Blacks.

He shuddered involuntarily at the thought of them.

He had been lucky thus far that Arcturus Black had held his tongue on what he had learnt. But why had he? He had proven that he had enough on him to ensure the end of his career. Even a whisper of the knowledge he held would see Cornelius out of office within hours, so why hadn't he made his move?

The thoughts unsettled the Minister. The Blacks were not known for reticence and he had expected that his tenure would end in only a matter of days despite the promise of the Lord he would remain silent so long as his family was left alone. Cornelius did not believe him and felt the walls closing in. This too was something he had been preparing for. In the weeks since Black had accosted him trying to recruit the young Tonks auror into the fold, Cornelius had been making moves to secure his future, moving around some funds for if the need to leave arose. It was little more than an admission of guilt of his past transgressions, but he would be financially able to support himself, start a new life where he was out of reach of justice.

He released a deep breath. He had only gone after the Black heir at the behest of Lucius who had assured him it was necessary. The boy would flee the country if not arrested and the chance of putting Charlie Potter's killer behind bars with him.

The question of how Lucius knew of his death before any other had irked him, even more so as more time went by without word from any other. His friend was resourceful but as he eyed the newspaper laid upon his desk, he couldn't help but think it only corroborated the words of the article. If the Dark Lord had risen, Lucius would have been there. Cornelius had never been foolish enough to believe that so many prominent members of society had been under the Imperius Curse. However, it would be difficult to prove and it served him no purpose to dig any further. Besides, had he followed his suspicions, his own position would have been forfeit and that would not do.

He growled as he pounded the desk with his fist. If there was any truth in the article, there would be mass panic and the Blacks had vanished into thin air. That, he could be grateful for. It meant they had no further interest in him or Arcturus Black had been lying as Lucius had insisted upon. The man had given the impression he knew things he shouldn't about Cornelius but had provided nothing.

The Minister seethed at having been duped in such a way. He couldn't possibly know what he had hinted at. Had he, he wouldn't keep it to himself. He was a Black after all, treacherous to the very core.

"DOLORES!"

The door opened a moment later, revealing the squat woman.

"Yes, Minister?" she simpered.

"Get Cuffe in here, now."

"Cuffe?"

"THE BLOODY EDITOR OF THIS RAG," he roared, waving the newspaper around exaggeratedly. "AND BONES, I WANT THIS MAN ARRESTED FOR THESE LIES."

Umbridge nodded animatedly, her jowls wobbling as she exited the room as quickly as her short legs would carry her.

Cornelius sunk into his chair as he experienced a myriad of emotions. Predominantly, he was furious but scared also. He couldn't help but think that something much bigger was afoot, masked by the pomp on display. It mattered not. He would weather the impending storm and emerge victorious as he always did.

(BREAK)

Amelia Bones sipped her coffee, grimacing at the bitterness as it washed over her tongue. The Ministry coffee was an acquired taste, strong with an almost sour note to it and unpalatable to most. Amelia however, had become accustomed to it over the years she had spent working in the department, even enjoyed it in a twisted way.

She rested the mug on her desk as she rifled through her missives, none requiring immediate attention. It had been rather quiet recently, something she was grateful for, though a period of such as this was followed by a flurry of activity and crime that stretched the team of aurors below her to their limits. When she took time to consider what she had at her disposal, she found herself shaking her head. Since Fudge had come into office, he had taken every opportunity to introduce cutbacks, reduction of aurors and budgeting measures that left the DMLE on the cusp of financial ruin. Whenever she raised her objections, the man pointed out that there was no longer a war to fund and such numbers were no longer needed. Amelia disagreed vehemently. The department needed manpower to function effectively, funds for better training and money to progress.

As a result of Fudge's penny-pinching, her workforce was a shadow of what it had once been. Overworked and tired men and women, poor equipment, a semi-functioning force at best. Were a true threat to be posed to wizarding Britain, she doubted there was little that could be done to prevent it. The aurors of today were less than one fifth in number and very few could compare to those she had served with in the field. All in all, the entirety of the DMLE was a shambles.

The peace of her coffee was intruded upon by an obnoxiously loud and frantic knocking at her door.

"Enter," she barked, not hiding her irritation at being disturbed in such a way.

She had to prevent herself from rolling her eyes as Dolores Umbridge entered the room, breathing heavily.

She detested the woman, from the pink bow perched on her head to the horrible shoes she squeezed her swollen feet into every morning. Umbridge was the worst kind of person, a self-serving arse-kisser who would spit on anyone to get what she wanted.

"Cornelius has demanded you join him in his office," the toad wheezed.

Amelia's lip curled in distaste as she stood and drained the final dregs of her brew, slamming the mug down unnecessarily hard as she glared at her intruder.

Umbridge took the hint and waddled away. Amelia followed with a shake of her head. Fudge only ever summoned her for something pertaining to funding or if he had done something foolish that he needed advice on. She was betting on the latter in this instance. The man had yet again proved his buffoonery with what had happened at the final of the Tri-wizard tournament. No doubt, something was now coming back to bite him.

She arrived at his office and found the man pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace with Umbridge watching him, thankfully in silence.

"You wanted to see me, Cornelius?" she called, causing the man to jump out of his skin.

"Of course, I bloody wanted to see you. Have you not read the paper this morning?"

"Some of us have work to do," Amelia bit back. "Not all of us have the luxury of reading first thing."

Umbridge turned a rather impressive shade of puce but any retort was prevented by the blustering of the Minister. Unable to find any words, he pointed at what had clearly offended him so much and gestured for her to read. She picked up the discarded newspaper, her mouth forming into a hard line as she read the article that had the Minister so rattled.

Boy-Who-Lived Murdered! The Return of the Dark Lord?

By Rita Skeeter

To my loyal readers,

My deepest wish is that the title of this article was false or misleading at best but I fear that it is not the case. As many of you are aware, during the final task of the Tri-Wizard tournament, the Dementors that had been stationed there run amok and began attacking members of the crowd and students alike. I, along with many, have questioned what could lead to them acting in such a frenzied manner and upon my investigations, I stumbled across a horrifying truth, a truth that has intentionally been kept from you, the wizarding public.

During the fiasco of the third task, Charlie Potter, the-boy-who-lived and national hero was kidnapped and subsequently murdered. Now, it is no secret that there were many that would wish harm on him because of his part in the downfall of the Dark Lord, who was undoubtedly in control of the previous war. Were it not for the night he fell to Charlie Potter, he may well have been successful in his endeavours, but, who after thirteen long years would act against the boy, I hear you ask? During my investigation to discover just that, I was approached by Lord Arcturus Black, who made some very damning and interesting claims. I was invited to meet with the family in a secret location outside of England for an exclusive interview with the heir of the family and brother to Charlie Potter, Harry Black. I offer this transcript of our conversation.

R: "Harry, you claim to have been present when your brother was murdered. Could you explain to me what happened?"

H: "I can. My brother was murdered by a man claiming to be he-who-must-not-be-named. (N.B I must add that Harry used the Dark Lord's name.)

R: "That is a very bold claim to make. Can you back up your words with any evidence?"

H: "Would you be opposed to viewing the memory?"

Initially, I was sceptical and excited by the offer. If it were false, I would be able to prove the boy a liar and if it proved authentic, be the first to alert the public to the danger we once again face.

I viewed the memory and for the first time in my career, wished I had not been so keen. I needed considerable time to even process what I had witnessed and come to terms with what had happened. In the past, I have been referred to as cold, malicious, insensitive and even evil. What I witnessed within the pensieve will forever haunt me. Indeed, a man claiming to be the Dark Lord attacked Charlie Potter and his brother did all he could to defend them both from the man himself and several men garbed in Death Eater attire. Both Harry and Charlie fought valiantly and were even momentarily successful against their assailants until a cowardly attack ended the life of the young Potter, who jumped in front of a killing curse aimed at his older sibling.

Many would say I have been heartless and indifferent toward any I have targeted during my work, but the sight of Harry Black trying to rouse his brother from death had me reaching for tissues. Overwhelmed, I took time to compose myself before continuing with the interview.

R: "I do not wish to offend you, Harry, but many will ask the question as to why you were there?"

H: "I was transported there as I took the tri-wizard cup during the final task. It had been turned into a portkey."

R: "Who would be able to do such a thing?"

H: "Your guess is as good as mine, Rita."

I sense that Harry knows more than he is saying on the matter but I decide to ask the question that needed to be answered, not wanting to provoke the ire of the family that had been so hospitable to me thus far.

R: "Why have you not reported it to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Harry laughed at my question, his grey eyes flashing an emerald colour that left me fidgeting in my chair in discomfort.

H: If I felt that the British Ministry was competent in investigating the matter without prejudice, I may have been compelled to do so."

R: "Prejudice?"

H: "Only hours after I managed to escape the man claiming to be the Dark Lord and his cohorts, Minister Fudge attempted to have me arrested for the murder of my brother whilst I was unconscious and unable to defend myself. Had it not been for Lord Whelan, he would have done so. When I woke to the news that I was a wanted man, I found it rather strange that the Minister was able to find enough evidence to arrest me, an innocent man. As such, I felt it was in my best interest to seek sanctuary so that a repeat incident did not occur. Very strange don't you think, that not even the DMLE had been informed of the death of my brother, yet the Minister knew and had taken it upon himself to investigate the matter."

R: "Very strange indeed. Apologies, but may I backtrack slightly?"

Harry nods his consent.

R: "You mentioned that Lord Whelan prevented your arrest?"

Lord Whelan, for those not familiar with the young man, is the Lord that defeated Lucius Malfoy in single combat earlier this year. What I have also learnt during my investigation is that the actions of the very same young Lord were pivotal in fighting off the Dementors during the final task of the tournament when they run amok. As such, wizarding Britain owes him a great debt for his role in protecting our younger generation when it was needed.

H: "He did. He defended me when I was unable to do so. Minister Fudge arrived with an entourage of aurors and Lucius Malfoy to arrest me. Lord Whelan valiantly defended me against the disgusting act and was arrested for his actions. For this, I call on any reading this to demand his immediate release. He did nothing but protect an innocent person."

R: "Why would Lord Malfoy be there?"

H: "Another strange coincidence, I'm sure you would agree. Only hours earlier, his former master returns and he is part of the party that arrives to have me arrested for a murder no official is aware of."

R: "Lucius Malfoy was cleared of all charges. He was under the Imperius Curse during the previous war."

I am once more taken aback by a bark of laughter from Harry.

H: "A weak and false defence. He has the Dark Mark, it is well documented. Receiving the mark requires a magical vow, something that cannot be given under the Imperius Curse or through any other from of manipulative spell, potion or magic."

R: "You seem to know an awful lot about the mark. Not even the top ministry researchers were able to discover much about it."

Harry shakes his head.

H: "I'd like to know how much research was done on the nature of the magic by the Ministry. Again, showing only but incompetence if they were unable to figure out what a sixteen-year-old could."

Amelia felt her stomach sink at what she had read thus far. Harry Black was exposing not only Fudge's foolishness but also the suspicions she had long since held. She had always questioned the veracity of the defence put forth by Malfoy and the other Death Eaters claiming to be under the Imperius. At every turn, any effort she made to investigate the matter had been shut down, usually by the Minister himself. She wouldn't usually trust a Black, but in the matter of dark magic, there were none more educated in the field. This piece did not paint Fudge or the Ministry in a positive light and if the public believed even a shred of it, there could be severe repercussions for them all.

"How much of this is true?" she questioned the still pacing man.

"It is all rubbish," Fudge spat.

"So, you did not try to arrest him without informing me, without revealing to me the results of an investigation?"

The man sputtered incoherently, confirming her thoughts on the matter.

"You bloody fool, Cornelius. It is not your job to carry out arrests, it is mine. If you had enough evidence to suggest that Harry Black was involved in the murder of his brother, why did you not bring it to me?"

"It was a matter of urgency, Amelia. He needed to be arrested before he fled."

Amelia released a deep breath through her nostrils.

"On what evidence did you attempt to apprehend him?"

"Lucius…"

"No, Cornelius. What evidence was there to arrest him?"

The man hung his head defeatedly.

"And Lord Whelan?"

"He physically attacked Dawlish and held me at wand point," Fudge defended.

"Why was his file not provided detailing his arrest? I've had every record on my desk from the past few days but not that one."

"It is in the process of being completed."

"And you sent him to Azkaban without a trial date?"

"I was going to arrange it today," the minister replied heatedly.

Amelia shook her head. The man could not understand just how stupid he had proven to be.

"You have sent a Lord to Azkaban without a trial," she began, holding up a finger highlighting his first mistake, "without a trial and someone who is now going to be hailed a hero and rightly so for keeping students of Hogwarts and beyond our borders safe from your own incompetence."

Fudge began purpling in rage and Amelia shot him a chastising glare. Even the Minister was not immune to her ire when it was provoked.

"What the hell do you think the French and Irish Ministry's will have to say about it? Not only that, what about the public here? This alone will cause an horrific uproar, that's even before we get to the crap about the return of Voldemort."

Fudge flinched at the use of the name.

"Come now, Amelia, you don't believe the boy? He's trying to cover up his own crime. The Dark Lord is dead."

Amelia again shook her head as her gaze returned to the article to finish the final words. It was when she turned the page that she was confronted with a plethora of images that Skeeter claimed were provided by Harry and his memory of what happened the night Charlie Potter had been murdered. None were pleasant but the image of the pale man clad in dark robes caused her to shudder. She had lost family during the last war and if there was a chance that he was back, she would not risk the last member of it due to ignorance.

"If he isn't, then any preparations we make will not hurt us," she returned. "And if he is, then may merlin save us because we cannot cope if it is anything like it was before."

Fudge erupted in rage and threw a stack of books on his desk against the wall.

"He's dead, Amelia. Pull yourself together, the boy is lying. The minute Cuffe gets here, I will have the truth of the matter."

The man's eyes bulged and Amelia couldn't tell if his anger was from desperation or misguided certainty.

"It says here that Harry Black has submitted his memory to the Swiss representative of the ICW. They are going to verify it and will discuss their findings as and when necessary," Amelia explained, gesturing to the paper. "Why would he do that if he was lying?"

"Because he's bloody deranged," Fudge seethed, unwilling to listen to logic.

Amelia remained quiet and the uncomfortable atmosphere eventually broken by a knock at the door. Without prompt, a large, suited man entered the room confidently, his deep brown eyes oozing intelligence and displeasure in equal amounts.

"What do you want, Fudge?" he demanded irritably.

"What do I want?" the man returned in disbelief. "I want to know why you have allowed these lies to be printed in your paper?"

The man shrugged as he inspected his fingernails.

"I see no lies," he denied. "Rita brought me a rather concerning story and I printed it."

The complexion of the minister immediately turned its most vibrant shade of purple.

"You believe this, this bullshit, Cuffe?"

The man narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"I have every reason to. Rita supplied the memory and I verified it myself. What Harry Black saw is completely authentic and I have no reason to doubt anything else he has said either."

"We had a deal, Cuffe," Fudge growled menacingly.

"And I held up my end," Cuffe shrugged. "I kept your name out of the final task fiasco. As far as I'm concerned, our understanding came to an end the night you asked me to ensure you were not mentioned in the coverage. Our deal, as you so eloquently put it, did not negate my responsibility for reporting such a danger to the public. For years you had a hold over me but do not push your luck, Fudge. I have enough dirt on you to see you swing."

"And I you," Fudge retorted heatedly.

Amelia watched the exchange between the two with rapt attention, hoping that one would release a bit of information that would warrant an arrest. Personally, she was hoping Fudge would prove his usual idiotic self and be the first to crack.

"Do as you please, Minister," Cuffe urged. "I will go to prison with a clean conscience knowing I did not attempt to conceal such a danger from the masses."

"You believe him, Cuffe?" Amelia interjected before Cornelius could provoke the man further.

"If I did not, Madame Bones, would I be painstakingly having the prophet headquarters emptied as we speak? Would I be paying a considerable sum to a team of experts to ward my home? Would I risk my life and the life of my family on a report such as this if it were baseless?"

Amelia sighed as she shook her head. She'd, of course, had her doubts, but no longer. Barnabus Cuffe was not a man easily scared or coerced. If he believed the evidence put forth to him, she had little reticence in believing his word.

"Shit," she muttered.

Herself and the department were not equipped to deal with the impending threat the man would pose. She turned to vocalise her thoughts to the Minister but was interrupted by one of her aurors bursting into the room.

"Erm, Minister?"

"What, what is it?" Fudge questioned irritably.

"There's a rather large gathering in the atrium, sir. I thought you should know."

Amelia sighed internally as she followed the man to the elevator and joined him on the way down. Before arriving, it was clear that the mob of people would not be happy and demanding answers that she could not give. When the gates opened, she knew it was much worse than she could have imagined. As far as the eye could see, were people, some holding up crudely constructed signs calling for Fudge to resign, others demanding the release of Lord Whelan and many others supporting Harry Black.

"And, so it begins," she muttered under her breath.

Amelia knew not where to begin. She would need to find a way to speak to Harry Black, Dumbledore would certainly need to be consulted and she had to take stock of what was available to her. It would not be enough but it would need to be done. Firstly, however, she had to prevent the gathered crowd from turning violent and disperse them as peacefully as possible.

(BREAK)

Harry sat at his desk, his gaze shifting between the strange stone he had recovered from the horcrux and the cloak he had been gifted by the Potters. His Grandfather had handed him a letter from his birth parents along with the cloak the day after their excursion. His first instinct had been to discard the letter out of hand but he had faltered, even more so when he felt the familiarity of the magic that saturated the cloak wash over him. It was identical to that of the stone and it only made him question further the origins of both items. The magic was unlike anything else he had ever encountered. The cloak he knew, was old, older than any invisibility cloak had the right to be. He'd had similar cloaks of his own, two in fact, both succumbing to the ravages of time, the charms fading as was the norm. According to Sirius, this was the very same cloak himself and the other self-styled Marauders had used at school to carry out their mischievous deeds. If true, this cloak had to be decades in age, longer if it had indeed been passed on from his paternal grandfather as Sirius had explained.

James had passed it off as a family heirloom during his school years and none had ever had reason to question him. There was certainly something 'Potteresque' about the magic, Harry could be certain of that but there was more, much more. There was also the same familiarity of Tom's magic, which only added to the confusion but again, there was something deeper. There was something almost eerie about the items, something that felt as though they did not belong, that they went against nature itself. He'd yet had the time to ponder further than his initial musings and he was keen to put his mind to the matter at his earliest possible opportunity, along with the contents of the missive. Now, however, he had something more important that required his attention.

For the past two nights, he had been preparing his first strike against Tom. For hours he had watched his target go about his business as though he hadn't a care in the world, as though he wasn't complicit in the murder of his brother. Perhaps the man hadn't attended the graveyard but as far as Harry was concerned, he was guilty by association. Any who carried the mark carried the guilt.

Finding the man had taken very little effort. According to Rita, he had pled the same defence as Malfoy and many others at the conclusion of the previous war. As such, he had been pardoned of all crimes committed whilst under the influence of the curse. Since the war, he had lived off the wealth his forbears had accumulated, contributing nothing to the family coffers. His was a minor house but a wealthy one nonetheless. It mattered not to Harry. He would merely be the first on a sizable list of those that would pay their dues and become a scapegoat for his cause. Either way, Tom would have to come out into the open eventually, if only to assure his people that it was not him killing those seemingly loyal to him. That would be only a matter of time and Harry couldn't help that hope the man would delay the inevitable. It would only benefit him after all.

Standing, he summoned his robes and checked he had everything he needed for his task. It would not do to be caught short because he had been unprepared. Certain he had everything, he disapparated and appeared a reasonable distance away from the home of his target.

The wards here were well put together and Harry would not pretend he understood the construct of them. Runes had always been a sore point for him but magic, he knew. He had a very intrinsic and instinctive grasp on magic as a whole, he could sense intent, nature and even things hidden in the nooks and crannies that most didn't know even existed. He couldn't be sure if it was his previous ailment that accentuated it so but what he did know was that his instincts had very rarely let him down. The only things that had stumped him so far was the ring and the cloak, and those he would decipher in due course.

He silenced his steps as he walked towards the large gates, the property in full view at the top a slight hill. Reaching them, he held his wand but an inch away from the metal, double checking that nothing had changed within the scheme he'd studied. As he expected, it hadn't. Though numerous, it took only a few moments to bend the spells to his will and open a gap wide enough for him to enter the property without triggering the alarm.

His first obstacle removed, he waited for the inevitable arrival of the second which came a few seconds later in the form of a house-elf. Before the creature could catch its' bearings, Harry removed its' head with a silent severing curse. A quick and painless death for the little being, one that was unavoidable if he were to remain undetected after his work here was complete.

With another wave of his wand, the corpse and resulting blood vanished, leaving his path now clear. It was only a matter of waiting for his victim to arrive home which would occur within the next minutes. In the interim, Harry entered the house and made himself comfortable on a sofa. The man he sought lived alone so there was no further need of a clandestine approach.

Only a few moments later, he heard the roar of the fire and footsteps as the floo network deposited his target into the next room. The sounds of movement paused before the man that arrived spoke.

"Fucking elf," he grumbled. "ALDEN, WHERE ARE YOU, YOU USELESS SHIT?"

The steps continued, echoing off the hard, wooden floor as the door opened with a crash. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Harry who froze the man in place with a flick of his wand.

"Mr Yaxley," he whispered almost excitedly. The adrenaline he felt warmed him but less so than the feeling of righteousness that enveloped him. He was doing this for his brother, a brother this man had helped murder.

Yaxley's eyes widened in fear and Harry suspected he would be trembling were he able to.

"We are going to have a conversation and the answers you give me will decide how merciful I am when it comes to your death. Make no mistake, Corban, you are going to die. How that happens, relies entirely on how cooperative you are with me. Understood?"

Harry disarmed the man and snapped the wand he found in two before carrying out a cursory search. Yaxley had nothing else on him so he guided him into a nearby chair and secured him to it with thick ropes.

"I didn't have anything to do with it, Black, I swear. HELP!" he shouted desperately.

Harry chuckled darkly as he shook his head.

"That is your first lie," he admonished, flicking his wand in the direction of the man.

The ropes he'd used to bind him turned into a spiked chain that dug painfully into the flesh. Yaxley screamed as he felt the points enter his muscles.

"Scream as much as you wish, Corban, no one will be coming for you."

He did so and after a few moments of agony, Harry reverted the chains back to plain ropes, against his own wishes. He'd rather the man suffered for the entirety of the encounter but he needed him lucid.

Yaxley panted heavily as he attempted to steady his breathing, a difficult task when faced with the emerald eyes boring into his own. He felt a bead of sweat run down his back, the salt of the sweat stinging his wounds enough to make him wince further from the inflictions.

Fear was not something he was accustomed to. For years he'd had the protection of the Dark Lord and even when the man had vanished, his reputation preceded him. It was others that feared him, had them bowing respectfully to his presence, treating him above the norm in case he, a known Death Eater, albeit acting on another's volition, decided to act against them for even an imagined slight. The years had been good to him, those that feared the Dark Lord, better. The occasional visit from the aurors to ensure he was law abiding was but a minor inconvenience. Now, however, he was questioning if the frivolity of it all had been worth it, now that he found himself in this position. The Blacks were the family the darker families used to scare their unruly children into compliance, the tales of them told enough to leave a youth unable to sleep for days. Many would never need meet a member of the rather reclusive family but if one was unfortunate, they would realise these stories told were not merely fabrications but a warning, a warning that if provoked, all manner of horrors were to be inevitably your fate.

He'd met Bellatrix, he knew what monsters the family could sire first-hand but even her insanity and proclivity towards violence could not match the young man stood before him. Harry Black oozed a darkness so very similar to that of his master that he would hard-pressed to differentiate between the two if it weren't for the green eyes now narrowed towards him.

"Crucio," Harry spat, his wand levelled towards his victim.

Another scream was torn from Yaxley's throat as he thrashed against the ropes, pain lancing through every fibre of his being.

Harry relented after only a few moments, his nostrils flaring as Yaxley began breathing heavily once more.

"It hurts, doesn't it, Corban? I wonder how many people you have done the same to, how many men, women and children sat helpless as you find yourself, whilst you and yours tortured them. HOW MANY WAS IT YAXLEY?"

The final question was finished with a blow to the jaw that rattled his teeth and left his head spinning. His thoughts were addled, his mind focusing only on the pain. After a moment, he felt his chin gripped tightly and he was forced to look at his captor, his face swimming slowly into view.

"How many?"

Corban swallowed deeply.

"I d-don't know," he croaked.

Harry nodded as he pushed Yaxley's face away in disgust.

"Your first honest answer," he almost praised. "How does it feel being on the other side? Do you fear me, Corban?"

The man could only nod. Even a fool would be able to recognise the helplessness of his situation.

"Please, I'm sorry."

His words were met with another blow, this one impacting against his left knee. He felt the bone crack and he gritted his already damaged teeth to prevent another pitiful moan from escaping. His efforts were in vain. He roared in agony as the bone shattered, rendering his limb useless.

"I thought we had gotten past the lies," Harry sighed. "There is no sorrow about you, Corban. You are saying what you think I want to hear. It's not apologies I want. It is only the truth I am after."

Yaxley slumped defeatedly as much as his bindings would allow, his only thoughts now focusing on what he would have to endure before he was granted his end.

"Let us try again, shall we?" Harry interrupted his reverie. "Did you answer the summons of Tom when he called you to the graveyard?"

Corban nodded reluctantly.

"See, the truth isn't so hard, is it? How long have you served him?"

"Since 1973," Yaxley answered.

"And did you join him willingly?"

He nodded again.

"I did."

"Do you regret any of your actions?"

Corban swallowed as he shook his head.

"Not a thing."

"Excellent," Harry announced as he seized the man by his chin once more. "Don't worry, Corban, you're only one of many on my list that I plan on visiting. I do hope for their sake they are as cooperative as I've found you to be."

Yaxley's gaze shifted and he met the emerald orbs of the younger man. Immediately, he felt a strong pressure in his mind as memories long past surfaced, all his misdemeanours in life being perused as Black rifled through his innermost thoughts and actions. Not even the most intimate were spared, though he tried to defend himself. He was simply no match for his opponent.

Eventually, the pressure eased and his head throbbed painfully as though someone was pounding a drum inside his skull.

"You're quite the disgusting creature, Yaxley," Harry whispered, "and for all you have done to others but mostly me, you are going to die a rather unpleasant death."

Before he could protest, he felt a burning from within spread quickly across his body, though no flames were visible. He mustered an almighty scream as he watched his hands begin to blacken and flake away, his flesh and bone reducing to ash in front of him. Both arms and legs followed suit before the searing receded as quickly as it had begun.

"Unfortunately, I do need there to be some evidence," Harry sighed. "Avada Kedavra."

Corban Yaxley could do nothing as the jet of green light careened towards him and enveloped him in darkness, his final moments having been agonizing and demeaning.

For a few moments, Harry simply stared at what remained of the man, gathering his thoughts. He felt no guilt for what he had done. Yaxley deserved what he'd received and so much more for his own actions in life but it was an experience he did not relish. He'd been taught to be ruthless, punish transgressions against him and the family with unwavering ferocity when needed and he done just that. Corban Yaxley had proven himself a threat, an enemy and even complicit in the murder of his brother. For that, he had to be punished and it had to be Harry that carried it out. He would not accept it being done any other way.

Standing, he swept his gaze across the room before casting several spells to conceal his identity. When all was said and done, Corban Yaxley would be deemed a victim of his own associates.

Exiting the property, he aimed his wand towards the sky and released the Dark Mark with purpose for the first time, certain that those within the houses visible in the distance would be unable to miss it hovering above the dwelling he had intruded upon and, satisfied with his work, he returned home, ready to plan his next move against Tom Riddle.

(BREAK)

After what felt to be the longest, most stressful day in his career, Cornelius Fudge finally arrived home. Groaning at the cloak above his mantle, he settled himself in his favourite chair in front of the fire, contemplating the worth of the few hours sleep he would be lucky to get before he was needed back in the office. Grumbling at his plight, he summoned himself a bottle of Ogden's finest and conjured a suitable tumbler before pouring himself an exceedingly generous measure and taking a much-needed sip.

"Comfortable, Minister?" a gravelly voice sounded, causing him to drop the almost full glass.

Cornelius whipped around in the direction the voice had sounded only for his wand to be ripped from his grasp.

"GUARDS," he shouted desperately as he flung himself to the ground.

"Tut, tut, minister. That's no way to treat a guest."

Cornelius turned and was met by the sight of Arcturus Black stalking towards him. In one hand he held his own wand and the other the one belonging to him hung limply at his side.

"B-Black? What do you think you are doing?" he returned firmly, his anger outweighing the severity of the position he found himself in.

"Well, I thought it was about time you got your comeuppance, Fudge. I did warn you not to fuck with my family."

"You c-can't, you'll never get away with it," Cornelius stuttered, is eyes darting to and fro looking for an escape or anything that would help him.

Black laughed in reply, his steely eyes dancing in mirth.

"I already have and I have you to thank for it, you pompous little bastard."

Cornelius whimpered as he was seized by the front of his robes and cried out as Arcturus drove his head into his nose.

"You see, I've been keeping a very close eye on you. I know about all the funds you have been moving around, about all the favours you've been calling in and every dirty deed you've been a party to since you took office. Come the morning, the entirety of wizarding Britain will know also. Do you want to know the best part?"

Cornelius could only shake his head as blood pumped from his nose, his vision obscured by tears of pain and fear.

"They will think that you have run away and are hiding like a coward," Arcturus whispered gleefully.

"P-please. I didn't mean to," he tried.

"Of course, you did," Arcturus dismissed. "You thought yourself untouchable, above my family. I told you, Fudge, I gave you fair warning and yet you persisted on a foolish path. For what you have done, you must pay the price. In this case, the price is your life."

Cornelius whimpered as he felt his bladder release of its' own accord. He couldn't believe this was happening to him.

"M-my wife," he pleaded.

"Dead," Arcturus shrugged uncaringly. "You fuck with my family, I fuck with yours. You pushed me one too many times, Minister. Did you not think I would have my revenge? I am a Black. There are none better than us of my blood. Perhaps you should have learned that. I was always ahead of you, I simply needed the right moment to act."

Cornelius sobbed uncontrollably, muttering his disbelief. His wife was innocent in all this.

"Don't be so upset, minister. I will do you a final kindness of reuniting you with her. Is that what you would like?"

Cornelius Fudge glared furiously at the man that still held him in his grasp. He'd been bested on all fronts and Arcturus Black would get away with it. Monsters like him always did.

"Goodbye, Fudge," Arcturus growled. "Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light illuminated the room briefly and the Black patriarch felt the minister fall limp to the ground with a soft thud. With a shake of his head, he vanished the corpse and cleared away any trace that he had been here. The rest of the work to fit his story had been completed earlier in the evening when he had arrived. When the aurors came looking, it truly would look as though the minister had fled, the knowledge that his transgressions against the people he served spurring his cowardice into action.

All that was left for him to do was to find a suitable candidate as a replacement. It would not do to have gone to all this effort only for Fudge to be replaced with another as unfavourable. He had an idea of whom he would have in office but it needed to be considered further.

For now, he wanted nothing more than to return home, so after triple checking his work, he left the residence of the now former minister of magic and did just that. His endeavour had left him depleted and a good night sleep was in order.