Without wasting a second, I bolted for the trunk. The moment I reached it, I immediately cast a silent Fumos. Thick, choking smoke poured from the tip of my wand, concealing me and my frantic rummaging inside. Of course, I had already erected a complex, two-layered shield in front of me. First, my modified honeycomb analogue of Protego, and beneath it, a simple Protego. My control had reached a sufficient level lately to allow me to simultaneously maintain the result of my pure magic manipulation and a full-fledged spell. The pain from my wounds, dulled by adrenaline and the animalistic desire to survive, only reminded me of itself occasionally… when my gaze caught on the unpleasant sight of the injuries.
My fingers found the handle of a broom. It was my Nimbus 1901, the latest model, a birthday gift from my parents. My plan was simple as could be: mount the broom and blast out of this Mordred-forsaken cave at tremendous speed, leaving the attackers with a corpse and an empty cavern. In short, with nothing.
But at that moment, through the ringing in my ears, I distinctly heard a scream, raw with fury and pain.
"BROTHER!" The cry, akin to a beast's howl, boded nothing good for me.
From the billowing smoke, like a spear, shot that same crimson curse I had barely dodged right after Apparating. The spell impacted the shield with a terrifyingly loud crack, surpassing all my expectations. The first, most powerful layer with its honeycomb structure, which I had managed to reinforce and saturate comparably to a Protego Duo, couldn't hold — some of the hexagons were simply annihilated, unable to withstand such a powerful impulse. But the rest of the honeycomb Protego remained intact, and I began restoring the shield. The smoke along the curse's trajectory dissipated as if it had never been there. Had it not been for the second layer of defense — a simple Protego that instantly collapsed, dissipating the remainder — my ribs would surely have been shattered.
But I wasn't given time to catch my breath.
"VENTUS DUO!" The same voice, full of hatred, shouted. A powerful, hurricane-force wind instantly scattered the remnants of the smoke, exposing me like a target on a clean field without a single blade of grass. Fortunately, I had managed to restore the breached honeycomb shield, which, as intended, had been pierced but not destroyed. Without my protection, the wind would have swept me away. But at the very second the smoke vanished, from a desperately close distance, I saw the wizard, his face twisted in rage, charging towards me and yelling:
"Bombarda Duo!"
The spell of pure destructive force flew towards me. A clump of destructive energy slammed into what remained of my protection. My pride, my vaunted honeycomb structure… I hadn't had time to reinforce it sufficiently after the breach. The shield simply turned to dust, offering not the slightest resistance. As if in slow motion, I saw the faintly visible, bluish hexagons of the semi-dome shattering like glass under pressure.
The shockwave reached me. Self-preservation instinct in all its glory forced my body, even as the shield was failing, to subconsciously try to cover my face with my arms, and, without even realizing it, I attempted to weave something from magical energy, creating a semblance of a barrier. The shockwave from the corresponding spell slammed my body against the cave wall at tremendous speed. The last thing I heard before consciousness plunged into darkness was a crunch — a sickening, wet crunch coming from within. Sharp, intolerable pain in my side and arm pierced my consciousness, eclipsing everything. All the pain up to that moment… had been laughable, but I didn't even have time to exhale, to scream from the pain — I was too late.
The darkness surged swiftly and mercilessly, swallowing all pain, sounds, and thoughts.
"…what are you doing, he…"
"I'll avenge… my brother… I'LL KILL HIM!"
***
With the characteristic crack of Apparition, a man materialized in the center of the room.
He was lean and had clearly long passed forty. His face, etched with wrinkles, was distorted by a grimace of profound dissatisfaction. His partially graying yet well-groomed beard, respectable robes, expensive clothes from the best tailors, sharply contrasted with the place he had just apparated to. He cast a heavy gaze around the dilapidated space — rotten floorboards, dust-covered windows, gaping holes in the roof. And that's not even mentioning the smell… he knew the source of that smell. His nose twitched not from the odor of the half-rotten wooden house, clearly long abandoned. No, his nose twitched from the acrid, familiar, and hateful smell of tobacco.
The smell and smoke led him to the adjoining room. By the window, sprawled on the windowsill, another man was smoking. His features bore a familial resemblance — the same cheekbones, the same facial lines, the same aquiline nose — but life had made its adjustments. The younger brother was stockier, and there wasn't even a hint of remorse on his face.
"It's all done," the younger brother generously exhaled a stream of smoke into the stagnant air. "Taken care of, in the best possible way."
But the man wasn't listening anymore. His gaze, piercing through the tobacco haze, landed on what… or rather, on who was lying in the corner. And his world crumbled.
On the dirty, moldy floor, contorted unnaturally, lay a boy of about fourteen, unconscious. His face was a mask of dried blood and bruises. His expensive clothes were torn in many places. He was covered in dirt and blood, and one arm was twisted at an impossible angle. The silver-platinum hair, a Malfoy signature, was so soiled with grime and gore that it was difficult to recognize the heir of the wealthiest family in Britain in this wounded, nearly lifeless body. The eldest son of Lucius Malfoy… Arcturus Malfoy.
The silence in the room became thick, like before a thunderclap. And the thunder struck.
All his life, the man had been cleaning up after his worthless younger brother… and time and again, the brother had soiled everything he touched. But this time, he had crossed a line his elder brother could not fix.
The man, hunching like a predator, covered the distance in two strides, grabbed his brother by the front of his robes, and with a strength unexpected for his leanness, slammed him against the wall. Pieces of rotten, crumbling wood showered down from the impact.
Pinning him to the damp wall, the man could only think about what his younger brother had brought upon their entire family.
"What the… hell?" The lean man's voice didn't rise to a shout. It hissed, a low and hoarse sound emanating as if from the very depths of his throat. Cold, predatory eyes, like blades, bored into the confused face of his younger brother. "THIS?! Did I ask for THIS?! How many times have I repeated it to you, you stupid bastard? How many, Oliver?! 'No,' I told you. Under no circumstances! 'It's suicide!' I repeated. But no! You're determined to ruin us all! Craving recognition and glory, are you?! Still want our old man to be proud of you? Well, he's in the grave, and you… you still want someone to hear your worthless name? Want me to admit you helped our family?! Then go sweep the streets, maybe someone will notice you're not entirely useless!"
Oliver was taken aback at first. The proud smile slid from his face, replaced by hurt, and then by reciprocal fury. He forcefully shoved his brother's hands away.
"And you?! Cowardly and worthless… you did nothing! They spat in your face, and you said thank you!" His voice rose to a shriek, breaking into a scream. He pointed a finger towards the window, at the world invisible to them both. "Because of this brat, we lost everything! Every chance! My nephew, my own flesh and blood, because of that Selwyn bitch and Lucius's whelp, lost his chance to get into the major league! He could have climbed to the very top. And our family was pushed back into the shadows again, made a laughingstock! One kid ruined so much effort, and all you say is… 'no'?!"
Godfrey went still. His rage hadn't subsided, no. It had concentrated; now he was even angrier. He slowly, with mocking theatricality, cast his gaze around the room — the decay, the poverty, the bloodied youth in the corner — and stared at his brother again.
"And what was I supposed to do?! Kill a teenager for my son's messed-up future? And your brilliant plan," his voice grew quieter, but that only made it more terrifying, "your solution… is to kill the heir of Lucius Malfoy? Are you really that stupid, Oliver?! Do you think they'll ever stop looking? They'll find him, alive or dead. The moment they realize their son is missing, all of Britain will turn the world upside down. If they haven't already."
He took a step forward, forcing his brother to retreat.
"The Malfoys will wipe us from the face of the earth! They won't look for proof. If there's even the slightest suspicion, they won't put us on trial. Lucius Malfoy won't come to our manor alone. He'll come with his vassals, friends, former Death Eaters, and a couple dozen fighters. He won't scream, like you. He'll be silent. And we… we'll scream and die… DISAPPEAR! They'll kill us one by one, so you see each death. First, they'll kill your worthless nephew, my son, who was outsmarted by this kid. Then they'll kill your bitch of a wife. Then me, my wife, and all my remaining children, and then they'll get to you. And when Malfoy's buddies with Cruciatus have wrung every word out of you, they'll gut you. That's what you've done! You worthless freak! THAT'S THE MISERY YOU'VE BROUGHT UPON OUR FAMILY!"
Oliver tried to straighten up, a flame of stupid, desperate defiance igniting in his eyes.
"They won't trace it to us! There won't be any evidence! We intercepted the owl personally. The Portkey was switched. My man made it, and he died today."
"Oh, really?" Godfrey laughed poisonously, more terrifying than any scream. "And even if you manage to pull off this miracle, if for the first time in your life you don't make a single mistake and the Malfoys don't trace it to you. If they don't find it! What does that change, brother? What have you changed with this risk? Will the Selwyns suddenly change their minds? Or maybe we'll show our teeth? Of course not! If even one person, ONE, guesses whose work this is, our entire bloodline will be slaughtered. Malfoy has enough power and gold for every wizard in this Mordred-forsaken country to want to bring him the head of any one of us they lay eyes on!"
He moved in close to his brother.
"NOTHING! We get nothing and will get nothing! No power, no influence, no respect. You just... took revenge. Now our entire family is under threat. It's pointless! You're risking the whole family, every man, woman, and child with our name, for what?! For the dubious pleasure of watching a fourteen-year-old boy die? Or however old he is."
Godfrey took a step back, looking at his younger brother with unconcealed disgust, as if seeing the full depth of his worthlessness for the first time.
"So what was your plan, Oliver?! What was your brilliant strategy?! Or did you just... want to kill a child?! Because you could?! Because that's the only way you can prove something to me?! Oh, you've proven Mother wasn't wrong to berate you for your worthlessness!"
Under his brother's gaze, Oliver began to deflate. His bravado evaporated, replaced by panicked confusion. He began to babble, stumbling over excuses.
"Godfrey, I... I didn't think it would turn out like this... We… we… can gain something! We initially planned to take him alive, for leverage..."
"Leverage?" Godfrey snorted, but a spark of interest flickered in his eyes, immediately extinguished by skepticism. "With whom? Issue an anonymous ultimatum to Lucius Malfoy? Do you hear yourself? That could be a lead for Malfoy's investigators… Fine, whatever. Then why did you beat the boy half to death… is he even alive?"
"The boy... he killed Edgar," Oliver whispered, lowering his head. "When we tried to grab him. He slashed Edgar open, used Sectumsempra. Edgar... he's the one who made the fake Portkey. His brother lost control and... well, you see."
Godfrey slowly raised an eyebrow. This Mordred-forsaken Malfoy brat would apparently be the cause of their family's end. And how? How had this kid managed to kill an experienced wizard?
"Edgar Renfro?" he clarified, and Oliver nodded. "And where's his brother now? Edmund, right?"
"Alive. He helped me bring the kid here. When his brother died, I couldn't stop him at first. He didn't want to hold back, wanted to kill him, I barely talked him into waiting until you arrived."
After these words, both brothers looked at the wounded boy lying in the corner, whom dozens of wizards would soon be searching for.
"Edmund needs to be dealt with after this, too," Godfrey stated coldly. "No witnesses can be left."
"Brother, I trust him, he's my childhood friend!" Oliver pleaded. "He… he'll stay quiet, he doesn't need to die. He's in this with us anyway; if they find me, they'll find him too."
"He'll be your… our noose," the elder brother countered mercilessly. But he still paused for a moment, his fingers tapping on his wand handle.
The idea of a ransom, however insane, was taking shape. As long as Malfoy didn't get his son back alive, he wouldn't stop. And when he did, of course, he still wouldn't stop, but he certainly wouldn't throw all his resources into hunting the perpetrators if his son was returned. And if they were already in mortal danger because of his brother's stupidity, why not try to salvage something from this suicidal venture? With a living heir, the culprits wouldn't be pursued as relentlessly. The key was to avoid mistakes. It was still only morning, and the Malfoys certainly hadn't missed their son yet. But when they realized he was gone, all of Britain would be looking for the boy.
"Alright," Godfrey exhaled, and his voice carried weary resolve. "Tell me everything. From the very beginning. I need every step. If you weren't my brother, I'd have turned you over to the Malfoys already."
Oliver, relieved that his brother was at least listening, began to babble, describing the switch, how he'd even learned about the owl, how they intercepted the Portkey, then forged and sent it in two days, and also recounted the ambush in the cave. Godfrey nodded, interjecting with clarifying questions. Of course, the place was warded against owls and detection rituals, so that side of things was secure.
Satisfied there were no obvious holes, Godfrey began issuing instructions on what to do and how to proceed.
"We need to patch up the young Malfoy. If we dawdle, he'll die altogether. And if he dies from these injuries, there's no ransom and the risk is pointless. We'll arrange the ransom in a few days. Anonymously, through as many intermediaries and magical channels as we can think of. We can ask for any sum, even more than our entire fortune. Malfoy will pay. I'll personally wipe the boy's memory, but only right before the exchange. Wipe everything connected to this place, and in general, we need to rip out all memories of the last few days by the roots, so no one can retrieve even a scrap. And once the gold is in our hands, you yourself will find and eliminate Edmund Renfro. Loose lips sink ships these days."
After they patched up the boy they both hated as best they could — considering they weren't Healers — the head of the Unsworth family Apparated away to begin preparations. And the problems were only just beginning.
Initially, Oliver had agreed with the two Renfro brothers to intercept the boy and earn a huge fortune through extortion, but after his brother's death, Edmund wanted most of all to kill the platinum-haired boy, not to demand a ransom. And if not for intervention, Arcturus Malfoy would already have kicked the bucket, given the serious injuries inflicted by the enraged man who had just lost his brother. The Unsworth brothers, however, were banking on the ransom; otherwise, the risk would be pointless, and the murderers of the richest family's heir would be sought more thoroughly and for longer than simple kidnappers.
"You agreed he needed to die!" With these words, Edmund was ready to kill Arcturus Malfoy, who still lay unconscious, but Oliver didn't want to disappoint his elder brother again. Fortunately, the threat of the elder brother's figure helped subdue the stronger Renfro.