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Harry Potter Squib Tales Chapter 95: Not All Fun And Games
🕑 Added 2025-11-20 17:01:08 +0000 UTCChapter 95: Not all Fun and Games
Amelia Bones POV
“Is that the last of them?” she demanded, glaring at the dozen or so men in black robes with pointed hoods that lay gagged and bound in the dirt, their silver skull masks put in a neat pile along with their wands.
All of it was evidence, alongside the marks on their arms, and she was going to make damn sure they all ended up in a nice, chilly cell within Azkaban.
“We gave chase to the ones who fled, but we likely won’t be able to get them. They scattered too quickly,” Rufus Scrimgeour said.
Amelia grunted in disappointment, but wouldn’t blame him. The Death Eaters had been grouped together in small teams spread out through the camping grounds, not in one singular large and disorganized mass. It meant that trying to catch them all in one fell swoop hadn’t worked.
As soon as the Aurors had appeared and the Anti-Portkey and Apparition wards went up, the cowardly (or perhaps smart) Death Eaters had scattered, shedding their garb and dispersing into the rest of the panicked civilians, hiding in plain sight.
The dozen or so the Aurors had caught had been the idiots too drunk on their own superiority and cheap fire whiskey to realize they were doomed. Some had fought back with lethal spells, or tried to go after civilians who turned out to have no qualms about fighting back. Most of those masked wizards were now dead because of it.
‘I won’t weep over them, but it is going to cause a big problem in the Ministry when their names are revealed,’ Amelia thought bitterly.
There were a few high-profile names among the deceased. Both Carrow twins, a Rosier, and none other than Walden MacNair were now corpses, the latter two little more than charred flesh because they’d tried to go after the Veela cheerleaders.
Thinking about the now ex-executioner for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, Amelia knew she was going to have a fight on her hands with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the rest of the Ministry. How many more of them were compromised? She knew the various Department heads would demand to be allowed to handle their own internal matters, but Amelia wasn’t going to let that fly.
This was not a mere matter of office politics, this was an act of domestic terrorism that had been perpetrated on British soil by British citizens against foreign nationals during the biggest international event of the year!
If they failed to do their job and sentence as many of the bastards as possible, then Magical Britain would be the laughing stock of the international community. Only the lack of death or injury among the foreign guests would keep the other Ministries from leveling sanctions onto her own administration for this cockup.
‘Damn it all… Another thing Ed was right about,’ Amelia thought to herself, her scowl now due to thinking about the annoying Seer who’d dropped this latest load of work into her lap.
He’d given her a list of names of people who were definitely Death Eaters and definitely branded, alongside a warning that the Quidditch World Cup had a very strong chance of being attacked by the masked bastards.
She hadn’t wanted to believe him, but Edward Rose had proven to be disturbingly accurate with his predictions, far more so than any other Seer she’d ever met. And the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement knew a few, as most of the ones in Magical Britain were employed by the Aurors to help solve crimes with their Divination skills.
Such people were rarely accurate, though. Like Veritiserum, Divination wasn’t perfect or accepted as the sole evidence for a trial, and the Seers were generally only used to help locate, corroborate, and confirm actual evidence or assist in connecting the dots, rather than being used to outright solve cases.
‘So how is Edward so damn good at what he does?’ Amelia couldn’t help but wonder. ‘How does he know so much and put every other Seer and Divination expert I employ to shame?’
He’d likely never tell. It frustrated her. The boy was keeping secrets. Big ones, and not just ones related to You-Know-Who. She had strong suspicions about his ‘job,’ too.
Officially, Edward Rose was working under Cyrus Greengrass to produce potions, but there should have been some sign of more potions entering the market than there currently were. Not to mention the times she’d met them both, the former Squib acted like an equal with the head of the Greengrass family.
And that was another thing! He was supposed to be a Squib! Yet now he was an actual Seer so powerful it had suppressed his magical abilities for years and even Hogwarts’ famous Book of Students had failed to detect this and made the appropriate adjustments in order to send the acceptance letter?
Something wasn’t adding up.
‘For now, though, he’s a useful person to keep around,’ Amelia thought bitterly.
Edward Rose was powerful asset, and while she was loathe to let a potential criminal run around freely, she had nothing besides her gut feeling to work off of. So, she would let him be. For now.
‘Besides, arresting him would make Remus upset,’ a traitorous part of her mind whispered, which had her flush a bit and stamp the thought down into the recesses of her mind with Occlumency.
Now was not the time to think about what her – admittedly rugged and charming boyfriend – thought about one of his acquaintances being arrested!
“Madam Bones?” Rufus inquired.
“Round them up, stun ‘em, gather the evidence, and double check their bindings, then send them to the holding cells,” Amelia ordered Scrimgeour, snapping back to the present. “Ensure that they are put into individual solitary cells, I don’t want them trying to talk to each other. And make sure only people who are given a minimum of Merlin-2 clearance can be allowed access to them.”
“Merlin-2?” Scrimgeour asked, confused. “That’s quite high…”
“Of course it is,” Amelia shot back. “These men are stuffing Fudge’s pockets, or have relatives who do so. I refuse to let them escape justice just because of who they know… or who they’ve bribed.”
“Some won’t like it,” he warned, and she snorted.
“I don’t care. Merlin-2 or higher. And make sure everyone passes through a Thief’s Downfall before entering the cells. No disguises!”
“Understood,” Rufus nodded, and he began to bark orders at the nearby Aurors who started to cart off the unmasked Death Eaters with the pops of Portkeys.
“Somebody needs to go and sound the all-clear,” she said a moment later, looking around at the different Aurors standing around. “Partridge, Schooner, Woolcoat, get on some brooms and tell everyone that the danger has passed.”
“Yes, Madam Bones!” the three Aurors she’d called out replied, saluting before running off to reassure the people everything was under control.
‘And now that that’s done, I have to discuss these matters with Fudge,’ Amelia thought, holding back a sigh.
She was going to have to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid again, like the time he allowed the Dementors to leave Azkaban.
‘I’m not going to get any sleep tonight, am I?’ she thought bitterly. And she’d promised Susan she’d spend breakfast with her. Another broken promise. Amelia hoped her niece would understand.
111 &&& 111
Unknown POV
“Shit… shit! Why in Merlin’s hairy sack were the Aurors out in force tonight?!” the man in the black robe with a pointed hood demanded as he tore off his silver skull mask and threw it to the ground in frustration and fury. “Crouch said it was supposed to be easy!”
The entire plan had been to sow a bit of fear, show those Muggle-loving fools that the true inheritors of magic had never left, and to prove their loyalty to their lord, who’d escaped death’s embrace to return to them and lead them to glory!
‘And yet that Bones bitch had her Aurors all over the place, just waiting for an excuse to start knocking heads!’ he thought furiously. ‘How did she know?! A mole? A traitor? An idiot who let something slip?!’
Any of those options were possible, and he vowed to discover who had been responsible, and make them regret it!
A twig snapped nearby, and the Death Eater froze, going still as he waited for the source to reveal itself. The man sagged in relief when he saw it was just an elderly old woman with a cane wearing some sort of knitted shawl over her robes stepping out of the bushes.
His eye twitched when she glanced at him, scoffed, and then just kept walking, completely dismissing him. Such a disrespectful act from some foreign crone was not going to be tolerated, and he raised his wand with a twisted snarl, preparing to ‘discipline’ the old witch, when she stopped, turned her head, and raised an eyebrow at him.
The Death Eater froze once more, although this time it was because every cell had turned to ice, and every cavity and gap within his body had filled with frost and snow. He was dead before he hit the ground and shattered into a million pieces that melted away into nothingness.
The old witch didn’t even care to glance at his remains, and simply continued on her way once she’d confirmed the last of corpse had melted.
“What an interesting young man,” the woman who’d introduced herself as Maria Khavan mused to herself as she walked through the woods.
She was not talking about that poor excuse for a wizard who’d tried to hex her, no, but rather, the child whom she’d had a lovely chat with at the match, and had shown remarkable hospitality to many, not just herself. For one such as herself, where hospitality was still considered a sacred rite, it was a good mark on him.
Erroneous Hunch Junior. Or, as he preferred nowadays, Edward Rose. A Squib who’d managed to do the impossible and give himself magic! Oh, yes, she could tell! Her nose was never wrong!
The air began to grow colder around her as a cackle slipped out of her. Her back straightened, her hair turned white as snow and lengthened until it trailed in the dirt behind her. Her teeth sharpened and turned to iron while the cane she walked with became a giant pestle, and the hunched crone that had previously been walking along in the dead of night vanished, replaced by a fearsome old witch.
The mortals knew her as Baba Yaga, Eternal Witch of Winter. She couldn’t remember the name she had been born with, and instead chose new ones every century or so to blend in. In fact, even most magicals had forgotten she was real these days!
Not that she minded. So many people had tried to bother her with this or that over the years, that being left alone was quite pleasant. And she’d never really been a ‘people person’ to begin with. Why else would she spread so many tales of terror and make sure her house could run away whenever she got noisy neighbors?
Right now, though, she was considering moving back into civilization, at least for a decade or two. The Witch of Winter wanted to see what would happen with the young man in the coming years, and being up close to the action was the best way to do it.
“He reeked of Death, so I know he met the Ferryman, yet I do not believe he has climbed to the same heights we have,” Baba Yaga mused aloud to herself. “In that regard, he is much like the fate breaking boy at his side. Perhaps they have found one of the Deathly Hallows?”
When an immortal found a way to cheat Death, the ancient being always visited the rulebreaker, even if it should have been impossible due to the Liminal Boundary separating the truly mystical from the rest of the world. Not to claim their soul, no, but more as a way to greet them, judge them, and warn them.
Death did not care if somebody found a way to extend their life beyond what was natural. Nor did it ever come for them personally. After all, Death claimed all, eventually. It need only wait. Instead, Death simply greeted them like a parent would when they know a child has done wrong, and waits for them to confess their misdeeds.
Such an encounter left an indelible mark upon one’s soul, that manifested as a stench only another immortal who’d experienced the same thing could detect. There were other ways to earn Death’s scent, of course. The artifacts, the Hallows, could cause this to happen. And those who delved deep into the Darkest magicks could be stained by it as well. But generally, it was only the claiming of immortality that summoned Death and its odor.
Baba Yaga had seen much, and met many cheaters of Death. She was one of the oldest immortals alive. Only a handful, like the pitiful trophy in Constantinople and the wandering idiot-king of Uruk were older. She’d met several wielders of the Hallows, including the Perevals, and she had known the Flamels even before they found their own secret path to eternal life, so she knew the difference.
Thinking about the Flamels made her feel a bit melancholic. It was always a sad thing to know that another immortal had succumbed to the ennui of life. She had liked the couple. Perenelle’s tea had been delightful, and Nicholas could talk with such enthusiasm about magic!
And earlier that night, Baba Yaga had seen that same joy for the mystical arts in the child they’d entrusted their secrets and legacy to.
“I begin to see what they saw in that Edward fellow. He is odd, and with a keen insight for magic,” the iron-toothed witch announced to the world, uncaring of who might overhear her.
She wondered if he could possibly complete the Flamels’ Magnum Opus. Their ultimate dream to cease the slow decline of magic.
“I’ll be keeping an eye on you, boy,” she decided, another cackle escaping her.
111 &&& 111
Barty Crouch Jr. POV
‘This was not part of the plan,’ he thought bitterly. Barty had thought his scheme had been rather inspired, but it seemed he lacked his master’s intellect, and had thus failed his mission.
Sneaking back into England had been quite easy. So many people coming to see the World Cup. So many ways to pretend to be somebody else. Even with his master in tow, Barty had found a path back home.
They could not return to London, though. Too many eyes. And the further they were from the site of the World Cup, the better. To that end, the Dark Lord commanded Barty to take them to a Muggle’s manor, claiming it for themselves.
The old groundskeeper had been easy to eliminate, and Winky did a better job at cleaning up the mess than the Muggle ever could.
Though Barty hadn’t understood why he’d been ordered to bring his master to some abandoned dwelling on the outskirts near the manor, nor why the sight of the charred and destroyed hovel had sent the Dark Lord into such a rage.
Barty had thought his master had been furious when he heard that some sort of book in Malfoy’s possession had been destroyed and the Basilisk within Hogwarts slain, but seeing the remains of that shack had been so infuriating that the homunculus the Dark Lord had been possessing had exploded with Accidental Magic.
Being used as a host for the wraith afterwards had been… painful, but Barty was strong, faithful, and had endured long enough to build a completely new body for his master to inhabit after the anger had burnt the original vessel to ash.
Following that, Barty had taken the Dark Lord to another site, this one some hidden cave in some cliffs. Seeing a locket resting in a bowl filled with potions surrounded by an army of Inferi had calmed his master’s agitation, though he’d been brooding recently.
‘And now, the news of his minions failure to remind the world that he is far from gone has only further displeased him,’ Barty thought with a grimace.
After returning to England, the last member of House Crouch had visited in secret the Death Eaters too cowardly to admit to their sins and who had bribed their way out of Azkaban. Barty had ‘persuaded’ them to reaffirm their loyalty to their master by sewing chaos at the World Cup.
The darkening of their marks had helped convince most, and others had needed to have a private meeting with the Dark Lord in person to get the remainders on their side, but it seemed that a decade of peace had weakened them, and the Aurors had caught onto their plans and halted the fun before it had time to properly spread.
Barty had been forced to escape without much to show for it, and now, he was back in the manor they’d appropriated, giving his report.
When he was done, Voldemort was silent, fuming in anger but thankfully not so much he might explode again. Nagini curled around him protectively, the massive serpent they’d picked up in Albania hissing at Barty for bringing such terrible news.
“What now, my master?” Barty asked tentatively, still kneeling before the homunculus containing his master’s soul.
“We shall take the ingredients we need for the ritual, but we shall not do it here,” Voldemort declared, his voice low and wheezing. “We’ll return to Albania for now. And, we will be forced to abandon Potter. A substitute will be required.”
“Master, we could still grab him!” Barty protested, but his lord sent Barty shocks of pain for his impertinence.
“No,” Voldemort whispered once Barty was done screaming. “We will not be able to snatch him away anymore. The plans for infiltrating the Tri-Wizard Tournament won’t work. If the Aurors are this quick to respond to even the slightest bit of provocation during the World Cup for the sake of ‘international relations,’ then they will no doubt make sure to double-check all of the preparations for the tournament. And replacing Mad-Eye will not go unnoticed for long if they are on the ball.”
Barty wasn’t so sure of that. Amelia had shown herself to be more competent than usual, but that was rather out of character for the Ministry as of late.
Instead, he voiced a suggestion. “Could we not convince Snape or Karkaroff to plant the Portkey?”
“A turncoat and a coward?” Voldemort sneered. “No. I will not risk it. Much as I would have preferred to use the boy in the ritual, some other foe’s blood will have to suffice. And I have many enemies.”
Barty bowed his head. It was true, after all. And was it not the mark of a great man to have many enemies? He wasn’t sure if that was how the saying went, but it fit well enough given the situation.
“I shall fetch the bones from the graveyard, then, master,” Barty vowed.
He wasn’t sure why his master needed the remains of some Muggle lordling, but if the Dark Lord said they were necessary for the ritual, then he’d obtain them.
This was a setback, but a minor one. A tactical retreat in order to return stronger than ever! Soon, oh so soon, Voldemort would rise again, whole and mighty beyond measure! And then the world would tremble before the Death Eaters as they took their rightful place as masters of it all!
Comments
Ian Rodgers
No tournament messes, but trouble will be brewing elsewhere
Alatoic
Baba Yaga, I knew it! will be quite interesting that she will be observing Ed. Wonder if other inmortals will also arrive, after all the Flamels give quite a quest. If Voldemort go out of the Country and Crouch with him, then no shenanigans with the tournament? or there will be other kind of troubles?
