Chapter 20
He was ready.
Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, his friends, Daphne, they had all seen him, talked with him, grieved with him, cared for him, but there was one thing that was thoroughly lacking among them all.
They did not know him, and they never will.
He was not who he once was. The loss of Sirius was dreadful, as was Remus, but the loss of Ron and Hermione had thankfully not sunk in by the time he had been killed, the overwhelming numbness of clutching Daphne's unresponsive form, eyes gazing up sightlessly, had done well to shatter any concept of grieving at the loss of his closest friends.
Sirius and Remus may look at him and see the echoes of James and Lily, but he was not. He was crueler, vicious, and possessive of what was his.
And he would protect it.
With his wand in hand up his sleeve, he tickled the pear and with a giggle, the painting swung open to reveal the house elves that were still happily at work, finishing up the cleaning of the kitchens.
"Dobby?" Harry called out, spotting the elf he was in need of. "Mind giving me a hand with something?"
"Harry Potter has need of Dobby?" He asked excitedly, finishing up and running to him, eyes even wider than normal in excitement. "What can Dobby do?"
Harry looked at the other elves, who were looking at him curiously, then back to Dobby.
"I need help with a prank. I need to get into the Slytherin common room."
Dobby's ears perked up, his mismatched socks shifting as he bounced on his toes. "A prank! Dobby loves pranks for Harry Potter! Dobby can apparate Harry Potter anywhere in Hogwarts. No wards stop house elves."
Harry forced a grin, the lie sitting easy on his tongue, a mask over the cold coil of intent twisting in his gut. It wasn't a prank. Not really. But Dobby didn't need to know that. No one did. "Perfect. But it's late, everyone's asleep. We'll be quick and quiet."
He slipped back into the corridor, pulling the Marauder's Map from his pocket with a whispered "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The ink bloomed across the parchment, dots clustered in the dungeons, still and unmoving in their beds. And there, Nott, a tiny label beside a bed in the boys' dormitory, oblivious in slumber.
Good.
"Mischief managed," he muttered, folding it away. The castle was silent, the portraits dozing in their frames, torchlight flickering low. He drew his invisibility cloak from beneath his robes, swirling it over his shoulders until he vanished into the chill air. "Stick with me, Dobby. Once we grab the bloke I'm pranking, pop us both out to that empty classroom on the fourth floor, the one with the busted desks."
Dobby nodded vigorously, his tennis ball sized eyes gleaming. "Dobby will do as Harry Potter says!"
They moved down the hall, Harry's footsteps muffled under the cloak, Dobby's bare feet padding softly. At the dungeon entrance, Harry leaned close. "Now. Take us in."
With a snap of Dobby's fingers, the world twisted, and they reappeared in the Slytherin common room. Everything looked the same as the last time he was here, down to the green-tinged gloom, the leather sofas empty, and the lake window rippling with dark water. No alarms, no stirrings.
Perfect.
Harry crept forward, Dobby at his heels, heart steady but thrumming with that vicious edge. He knew the layout without issue. Down the corridor to the dorms, past snoring lumps under emerald hangings. There it was, Nott's bed, curtains half-drawn, the boy sprawled on his back, mouth slack, his chest rising slow.
Harry paused at the foot of the bed, wand slipping into his palm. The urge hit him like a wave of white hot rage, to slice clean through that exposed throat, watch the life spill out in a hot rush, end it here for what he'd done, what he'd tried. His fingers twitched, magic humming eager under his skin. But no. Not yet. Not like this.
Disappearing him right now would be too difficult at the moment.
A silent jet of red light from his wand later, and Nott went rigid, eyes fluttering shut deeper into oblivion. Harry reached out, snatching the wand from the bedside table, holly, maybe, or yew, didn't matter, and pocketed it. Then he gripped Nott's collar, fabric bunching in his fist. "Now, Dobby," he whispered. "Get us out."
Another snap, and the dungeon vanished. They rematerialized in the dusty fourth-floor room, moonlight slanting through the windows. Nott's limp body thudded to the stone floor, head cracking against it with a dull smack, still out like a snuffed candle.
Harry drew Nott's wand, stifling the urge to break it in half, splintering it to nothing. Instead, he pointed it at the prone figure; a flick stripped away robes, pajamas, everything, leaving pale skin bare and vulnerable. Another wave levitated him up, slamming him spread-eagled against the wall, invisible bonds sticking him fast like a pinned insect. Then a final twist, and Nott's hair shed in clumps, scalp to toes, every strand falling away in a whispery cascade, leaving him smooth as marble, ridiculous and raw.
He then dropped the wand to the floor, drawing his own. A simple swirl cleaned it, the prints gone, traces of his magic scrubbed, and any lingering echo of use vanished into the ether.
Harry stepped back, cloak still shrouding him, satisfaction curling cold in his chest. "Thanks, Dobby. He deserved this, for what he did to Daphne."
Dobby's wide eyes darkened, ears drooping like wilted leaves, a rare shadow crossing his face. "Dobby is glad to help Harry Potter in protecting Mistress Daphy."
Harry nodded once. "Keep this secret, yeah? Just between us."
"Dobby will keep Harry Potter's secrets," the elf vowed, voice solemn as an oath.
"You should get some sleep. I'll make my way back to the common room."
With a final nod, Dobby popped away, the air snapping shut behind him.
Harry moved swiftly, slipping into the nearest open corridor, an alcove with high arches overlooking the grounds. He flicked his wand, muttering low, and after a tense minute, his Firebolt came racing through the night, slicing silent wind to halt right before him.
He mounted, kicking off hard, shooting toward the ward boundary like a barely detectable shadow. The castle blurred, wind whipping his cloak around him and revealing faint bits of his form. At the edge, he leaped clear, landing light, and cast a disillusionment charm with a casual flick of his wand, his broom fading to a chameleon-like shimmer. Taking a step over the invisible line, he twisted on his heel, disappearing with a sharp crack.
xRSxxRSxxRSx
The night air was sharp with the scent of damp grass and the silence of a village that didn't know it was a battlefield waiting to happen.
Sirius Black stood just behind the low stone wall surrounding the cemetery in Godric's Hollow, one boot braced against the frost-kissed ground, the other jittering faintly with restrained fury. His wand was already in hand, held with the ease of years of use and months of constant retraining himself back to form. Around his waist, a belt of potions clinked softly when he shifted, invigoration draughts, blood-replenishing vials, and a few explosive others.
His eyes scanned the treeline, the empty street, and the windows of the silent houses beyond the chapel. Not one flicker of movement yet, but he could feel it, like a pressure in his teeth and nails. They were coming.
And when they did, he would be ready.
He clenched his jaw. Cold fury simmered beneath his ribs, a heatless blaze he hadn't felt in years, not since that Halloween night, when James and Lily had died, when Peter's betrayal had shattered everything. This wasn't righteous anger. This was something deeper. Hungrier.
Desecrate their graves?
He nearly bared his teeth at the thought.
They dared.
They dared!
Beside him, Remus was silent, his wand already drawn and his face cast in harsh shadows. The light of the half-moon didn't touch his expression, just the lines of weariness that had become more pronounced over the years. But tonight, there was no hesitation in his posture or any exhaustion. Just grim determination.
"The wards are holding," Remus murmured without looking at him. "Apparition is one-way. They'll come in fast. We'll get the signal to the others once they show."
Sirius nodded once, tightly. "Are they in position?"
"They are," Remus said, soft but certain. "They'll be ready the second I signal."
Good. That meant the net was cast.
The anti-apparition wards weren't rigid, they'd designed them that way. It was easier to trap rats if you left the net more pliable so it wouldn't tear if struck hard enough by them all at once. The Death Eaters would arrive thinking it was an easy strike. Terrorize some Muggles. Defile a pair of gravestones. Make a statement.
And they would leave in chains.
Or in pieces.
He flicked his eyes toward the gravestones at the center of the plot. James and Lily's names etched in soft white marble, forever pristine, even after all these years. A faint shimmer lay over them, Dumbledore's preservation charm, renewed faithfully every year.
They wouldn't touch them.
Not while he still breathed.
Not while his friends still had him to protect them.
Remus exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring. "They're late."
"They'll come," Sirius said, eyes never leaving the path that led into the square. "Bellatrix doesn't care about schedules. She cares about spectacle."
Oh how his far younger self would have felt about the thought that streaked through his mind, that bright eyed lad that adored his older cousin, who was like a sister to him… until she wasn't.
He was going to kill her.
Remus' grip tightened on his wand. "Then let's make sure she gets one."
They waited in silence, the chill of the wind rustling through the leaves. A lone owl hooted from somewhere in the distance. Sirius didn't flinch. He could feel the tension like wires drawn taut under his skin. He could feel his body hum with restrained energy, his magic responding to his mood and it was coiled tight, thrumming beneath his ribs, waiting to lash out.
Harry had been right. And Harry had wanted to come. Sirius had seen it, hell, he had just about felt it through the mirror's surface, like heat off a fire. James' boy, his godson, had radiated fury, had shaken with it. And for a second, Sirius had seen himself, back when vengeance had been the only thing that kept his lungs moving.
But Harry wasn't going to become that.
Not if Sirius could help it.
Still, he remembered the look in Harry's eyes. The way they'd glowed, like firelight through emerald glass.
He would tell him how it went. He'd promised.
And he'd make damn sure Harry never had to walk this particular path, or at least not be alone if he must.
"Get ready," Remus said sharply, tapping his wand against his head and his form shifted to be nearly translucent looking as the Disillusionment charm settled on him.
Sirius's heart thudded once, hard. And then he followed suit, feeling the cold trickle all across him from the crown of his head to his feet.
Figures began to ripple into view, six, maybe seven, cloaked in black, masks already drawn, silent as wraiths. One of them at the front moved with a manic kind of elegance, twirling her wand lazily.
Bellatrix.
Sirius smiled, baring teeth and he didn't need a mirror to know that the shadow of the Grim passed along his features.
He raised his wand.
And Remus cast a patronus to message the others.
The trap had sprung.
The anti-apparition wards clamped shut with a silent ripple, and Sirius felt it more than he saw it, like an invisible barrier sealing the graveyard off from escape. The trap was sprung.
And he pounced.
A silent Confringo struck directly at Bellatrix, an instinct that had saved her many times springing into action and the blasting curse was hastily knocked down and erupted against the ground in a violent blast that tore up earth and stone in a sizzling explosion. She flinched, snarling, then her eyes flashed with glee. Before her mocking grin could widen, Sirius swirled his wand to wreath himself and the vicinity into shadow and shifted into Padfoot, black fur streaking low and fast through the shadows in a blur too fast for the eye to track. He darted around a worn statue and lunged, fangs clamping hard onto the wand arm of a startled Death Eater.
There was a sickening crunch as flesh, sinew, and bone gave way as his entire hand was torn clean free.
The man screamed, his wand dropping with his hand in a spurt of blood, and Sirius broke away, paws kicking up soil as curses rained blindly around him in streaks of red and green. Another shift and he was back in human form, wand slicing through the air to split the shadow and condense it into a blade of purest black, before shooting it directly at Bellatrix in particular.
With a howl and the air shimmering between him and the Death Eaters, the blade of shadow slammed into a shield Bellatrix cast, a dome of molten, shimmering gold that cracked like a nearly shattered window as the blade broke against it.
Sirius did not let up. He flicked his wrist and unleashed a barrage of jinxes and curses, red, blue, and silver bolts streaking forward like arrows, forcing her to twist and parry, her robes whipping as she backpedaled.
Remus, from his vantage on the ridge, was a storm unto himself. A silent bludgeoner hurled an attacker into a fence of a nearby house with bone-jarring force. A flick of his wrist fired twin bolts of blue force that exploded against a hastily-raised shield of another, cracking it like eggshell. He didn't stop there, his wand moved in precise arcs, sending a chain of piercing hexes that lanced through the air, one skewering a Death Eater's cloak and pinning him to a tree trunk, another grazing a mask and drawing a howl of pain. Remus pivoted, casting a wide-area Impedimenta that slowed two more assailants mid-stride, their movements turning sluggish as if wading through treacle, easy targets for his follow-up attack that detonated the ground beneath them in a shower of dirt and debris.
For a moment, the ambush held and the remaining Death Eaters in the fight remained on the back foot, one already permanently down, another writhing with a mangled arm, the rest scrambling to regroup under the relentless assault. Sirius pressed the advantage, his wand a blur as he fired off a curse that slammed a cloaked figure into a headstone, cracking marble, followed by a jet of flame from his one that forced another to be flushed out into the open where Remus's next hex slashed deep gashes across the man's chest, blood blooming dark against black robes.
But then they rallied, mainly from Bellatrix.
Sirius ducked just as a jet of sickly green magic screamed overhead from his cousin's wand, pulling back as several follow-up curses had him One threw up a dome-shaped ward that shimmered against the dim light, absorbing Sirius's next exploding hex with a resonant hum. Another moved like liquid shadow, sweeping out a wide arc of flame that forced Sirius into a roll behind a gravestone, scorching his sleeves at the edges. Bellatrix countered Remus's latest volley with a snarled Crucio that twisted mid-air, forcing him to shield and divert, his face tightening against the near-miss.
A red bolt nearly caught Remus in the chest; he deflected it, but his footing slipped on loose stone, and a follow-up curse shattered the ledge beneath his boots. He dropped hard behind the ridge, narrowly dodging the next volley, but he rose firing, a rapid series of curses that exploded tombstones in sequence, sending shrapnel flying and keeping the Death Eaters pinned, their shields flickering under the barrage.
Sirius's heart pounded.
They were responding too fast.
Bellatrix cackled as she sent a flurry of brutal hexes toward Sirius. He deflected two with a barked Protego, ducked the third, but the fourth grazed his shoulder and sent him sprawling behind an angel statue, cloak torn and smoldering. He retaliated instantly, wand whipping up to unleash a torrent of his own; a Conjunctivitis Curse to blind her momentarily, followed by a banisher that flung a nearby Death Eater into her line of fire, disrupting her aim.
And then, he recognized the other Death Eater that had been keeping pace with Bellatrix and was pushing back Remus.
Dolohov.
He could recognize Antonin Dolohov now even if blinded and the man strode forward into the clearing with cold, deliberate steps, wand raised high. His mask reflected the moonlight, expressionless, bone-white death. Without a word, he flicked his wand and unleashed a storm.
The air howled.
Blasts of pressure tore into tombstones, shattered monuments. Sirius threw up a barrier just in time to catch one, but it cracked on impact, fragments of translucent magic breaking like glass. Dolohov followed with a lashing black curse that raked through Sirius's defenses like claws, barely missing him but he could hear the air sizzle by him. He grunted, rolling sideways, shoulder hitting hard against a stone, and countered with a silent charm, animating shards of broken stone to hurl like daggers at Dolohov, who shattered them mid-flight but was forced back a step.
Remus tried to flank, and he sent a chain of hexes down from the ridge, but Bellatrix anticipated it. She turned, wand carving vicious lines through the air. A streak of purple slammed into the rock near Remus, shattering it into shrapnel. He dropped again, blood blooming on his temple, but his wand never stopped moving, firing a body bind that locked one Death Eater rigid, toppling like a felled tree.
They were being pinned.
It took everything Sirius had to keep dodging. There was a blur of shadow to his right; he blasted it with a silent cutting curse, only for it to vanish into smoke. Illusions. Misdirection. They were forcing him to burn through spells, through focus, through time. Sirius snarled and cast a wide Finite Incantatem to dispel the tricks, revealing a Death Eater whom he hit with an instinctive curse, blasting him backwards.
The Death Eaters were still reeling, their numbers thinned, movements desperate, but holding, just barely, when with multiple cracks sounding out, the rest of the Order arrived.
Tonks hit the ground at a sprint, firing off a chain of silent hexes, her face set in fierce concentration. Kingsley appeared at her side, cloak snapping behind him as he cast a massive wave of force that scattered two Death Eaters like leaves. Moody followed a beat later, wand already alight with furious retaliation, spinning to send a silvery curse directly at Dolohov's flank.
It didn't land.
Dolohov turned and swatted it aside like an afterthought, then retaliated with a searing white bolt that forced Moody to shield, the explosion wrapping around the ground surrounding Moody like a sizzling crescent. But the arrival shifted the tide momentarily; the Death Eaters, already battered, faltered further under the fresh assault.
Tonks fired back with a barrage of jinxes that tripped and tangled legs, while Kingsley's deep voice boomed incantations for shielding charms that absorbed incoming fire, allowing Remus to rise and unleash another volley of explosive curses.
It became a maelstrom.
The sky lit with curses, the air thickening with the crackle of magic. Bellatrix twirled, robes flaring, wand dancing through the air like a conductor's baton. Her spells were violent, artful things, blasts of twisting flame that forced Tonks to dive, jagged arcs of pressure that cracked Kingsley's shield, hexes that warped the very air they passed through, sending ripples that distorted vision and balance. Dolohov by contrast was silent and surgical, each flick of his wand another lethal curse; a violet lash that nearly disemboweled Moody, a silent Killing Curse that Remus barely ducked and it slammed into a tree, splintering it to ash.
The ambush had become a deadlock, but they were winning.
Sirius dove again behind cover when another killing curse was flung at him, breath ragged, the muscles in his arm shaking from casting.
He looked up, and met Remus's eyes across the battlefield.
An unspoken conversation passed between them with just a look and Sirius jumped up when he saw his opening, a momentary lapse as Bellatrix twisted to deflect a curse from Tonks. He broke off from the main fray, surging forward with a guttural roar, wand slashing through the air. Bellatrix spun to meet him, her face twisting into a feral grin, eyes wild with mad delight, lips pulled back over teeth like a predator scenting blood.
They clashed like two wild beasts at each other's throats.
Sirius opened with a brutal blast, a searing wave of force aimed straight at her chest to shatter bones and pulp organs; she parried with a flick, the explosion detonating between them in a shockwave that ruffled robes, stung eyes, and filled the air with the acrid stink of scorched energy. He followed instantly with an invisible slash, a razor-edge of cursed air whistling toward her throat to sever veins, she ducked low, the curse grazing her hair and drawing a thin line of blood across her scalp, countering with a bolt of writhing agony that he sidestepped by inches, the curse's edge brushing his skin like invisible hooks tearing at nerves, promising torment if it connected.
Back and forth they went, fast-paced and brutal, no breath for words, just grunts and snarls, the stink of sweat and blood thick between them. Sirius pressed close, his style raw and aggressive, a crushing pulse of magic slamming her back a step, meant to crumple ribs and stop her heart; it glanced off her hasty shield, but the impact jarred her, drawing a hiss through her bared teeth. She laughed, feral and unhinged, her wand whipping in arcs that sent twisted flames licking at his heels, hungry tongues of fire that would char flesh to bone and leave him screaming; he leaped aside, the heat blistering his calves through his boots, retaliating with a lashing whip of dark energy that tore his cloak further and drew a deeper gash across his arm, blood soaking the fabric.
They were practically neck and neck, circling amid the shattered graves, spells flying in a deadly dance while their allies continued to clash, his explosive surge met her wavering barrier, shattering it in a spray of ethereal shards that cut shallow lines across exposed skin, forcing her to reform it with a snarl; her killing curse screamed past his ear as he rolled, the brush of death chilling his blood like ice in his veins, the grave dirt grinding into his wounds as he sprang up. He retaliated with a vicious animation, jagged roots of the grass and a tree bursting from the earth to entangle her legs. She blasted free with a burst of corrosive acid-mist that ate at the bindings, her grin never fading, eyes locked on his with familial hatred turned to glee, even as the mist's residue burned her own skin in angry red welts.
Sirius felt the burn in his lungs, the ache in his wand arm turning to fire with each cast, blood dripping from his gashed shoulder to slick his grip, but he matched her ferocity, blow for blow, the world narrowing to just this: him and her, locked in a whirlwind of magic and malice, neither yielding an inch. He feinted left, then unleashed a piercing lance of shadow straight for her eyes, designed to blind and burrow into the skull like molten lead; she twisted, the curse clipping her ear and tearing cartilage in a spray of blood, her counter a coiling serpent of cursed flame that wrapped toward his torso to incinerate lungs and boil blood. He shattered it mid-air with a raw burst of force, the backlash stinging his palm like shattered glass, but he pressed on, aiming next for her throat with a choking grip of invisible hands, squeezing to crush windpipe and snap spine.
Bellatrix cackled through the pain, her bloodied face alight with ecstasy, flinging back a storm of jagged shards that would impale and eviscerate, each one humming with lethal intent; Sirius dodged most, but one grazed his thigh, carving deep into muscle and sending hot agony shooting up his leg, nearly buckling it.
He roared, channeling the pain into a thunderous blast of emerald lightning that hurled her through a fence, the impact shattering the wood and drawing a grunt from her as ribs protested; yet she rose, spitting blood, her grin wider, madder, as if the hurt only fueled her.
Sirius didn't hesitate; he was playing to win, to end her, his next curse one from his family, a swirling and devouring void of blackest night that sucked at life, pulling life-force to wither limbs and stop her heart cold. She met it with her own, their magics colliding in a vortex that tore at the ground around them, uprooting grass and flinging dirt like shrapnel, the air howling with the fury of a fight where only one would walk away breathing.
Sirius poured everything in, but exhaustion crept like poison. His spell wavered. Bellatrix's pushed through, the edges gnawing at his skin, draining strength from his bones. He staggered, vision blurring.
Then a cutting curse clipped too close, slicing across his side in a hot line that spilled blood and dropped him to one knee. He raised a shield just in time, barely, to block her follow-up killing shot, the purple light splashing harmlessly but cracking his barrier like thunder.
On the ground, his breath ragged, he fumbled at his belt for an elixir, fingers slick and shaking. Bellatrix wound up again, wand high, lips curling for the curse that would end it.
Then the anti-apparition wards rumbled... and then shattered with a loud noise like glass breaking. Then a ripple tore through the air, near-invisible, roaring toward her like a silent wave.
Bellatrix twirled at the last second, dodging narrowly. The displacement whipped her hair wild, robes snapping.
The attacker was a blur under an invisibility cloak, wand a streak of motion. Curses flew at insane speed: piercing lances, crushing blasts, lashing whips of force. One grazed Bellatrix's arm, carving flesh down to the bone; another slammed her shield, shattering it outright. A third, a coiling shadow blade, nearly took her head, forcing her to duck as it sheared a tree behind her in half.
She snarled, blocking frantically, but the onslaught overwhelmed. A final curse, a sort of piercing hex Sirius didn't recognize, clipped her side, sizzling where it struck and drawing a howl from her. Blood poured; she staggered, eyes wide with shock.
Before death could come to her, she apparated out with a crack, vanishing in a twist of black smoke.
The figure paused, cloak shimmering as if glancing at Sirius. Relief hit him like a draught, but then a hex from Moody streaked in, a dark gold lance of flame.
The figure deflected it with a routine Auror parry, crisp but sloppy at the edges, like old training half-remembered, but no counterattack. Just a flicker, cloak rippling, and they apparated away, gone in a sharp crack that echoed across the graves.
Sirius slumped back, blood pooling warm beneath him, staring at the empty air where his savior had stood. The battle around him faltered, Death Eaters scattering or surrendering under the Order's renewed push. But his mind fixed on that blur, that parry.
It was an auror, or at least trained by one, and frighteningly dangerous. Hissing as the pain of his wounds flared up, he downed the elixir in his hand, then a wiggenweld to partially heal the injuries. After a few moments to let the wounds knit somewhat together, he forced himself up to his feet, taking stock of the others.
Moody and Kingsley had two Death Eaters restrained, completely tied up and hovering a few feet above the ground, while the won he ripped the hand off of appeared to be dead, while Tonks was tending to Remus who appeared mostly fine.
Sirius limped his way to them, looking around to see the environment following the battle.
"The graveyard was completely destroyed, trees ripped apart and gravestones destroyed, open fires in multiple locations, and Sirius felt half in the present and half in the past, a past forever gone.
He… almost died today.
It wasn't enough now, he needed to do more. He got to Moody, who gave him a sharp look.
"Did you recognize who that was, Black?!" He barked, the exact same time he used during the last war as Sirius' commander as an Auror.
"No." He replied shortly, wand still slick and sticky with his blood, but still in hand. It obviously was someone who came prepared, having an invisibility cloak, and was obviously trained and wicked fast.
"Prepare for the 4 apparition jumps!" Moody shouted then. "Aurors will be here shortly."
Sirius looked around for a moment, then to the restrained Death Eaters. It would be quite easy to simply kill them here, as then they couldn't be let out again. But then again, it would allow for more public knowledge of the things going on.
Dumbledore's orders.
He then, with his comrades, disappeared in a crack, followed by them arriving out in a field outside of Berkshire, then to an abandoned building in London, then to the north of Birmingham, and finally to the east side of London.
They would now be impossible to track, and they made their way to a muggle car, Kingsley driving, and the somewhat battered but triumphant members of the restored Order of the Phoenix made their way back to Grimmauld Place, blood drawn from their enemy and the thrill of victory pounding in their chests.