Chapter 8. Queen of Escalation
As he stepped past the headless bodies and into the pink tent, his mother's voice rang with triumph, 'Good. No hesitation, only kill.'
It was easier, he admitted to himself. Lily had been right. He should be grateful that his first kill wasn't in the heat of the moment; he would have hesitated otherwise. And who knows what could've happened to Daphne if he had? It was for the better that he'd been prepared in advance. Ever since that day in winter—after he was forced to take his first life, after he smashed Snape's skull on the concrete wall—killing was easier.
He willed his fist not to tremble, refusing to look back at Daphne's horrified face.
It was easier, he repeated.
Inside, the tent stretched into a seemingly neverending corridor with rooms on either side. A blue-haired man patrolled the passage, halting in his steps at the sight of him, the boy with a blank face and a placid smile, whose fist was still slick with blood.
"Who ar—"
Harry closed the gap between them in three long strides, not allowing the man a chance to react. Just like before, his fist was a cannon, taking the head clean off before the question could form.
'No hesitation, only kill.'
It was easier since then.
Then why did his stomach still twist with unease as the body dropped with a dull thud, as blood spouted from the jagged neck and ruined the floor?
He kept moving, refusing to linger on that question, following the invisible thread that bound him to his twin.
The inside of the tent didn't even resemble a tent. There were actual doors rather than tent flaps. And the floor was polished marble instead of a carpet. Only the pink fabric ceiling above hinted at what it truly was.
At the end of the long corridor, his feet came to a stop, and he turned towards the door on his left. Grabbing the knob, he twisted it until it broke.
Click!
It opened inwards with a slight creak, the warm light from the corridor spilling into the dark cell, revealing Rose and Hermione huddled together on a stone bench.
He stared at them, ignoring their relieved faces, checking for any injury. There was none. They were entirely unharmed.
"Harry!"
Rose barrelled towards him, but he raised his bloody fist, his voice quiet and exhausted as he stopped cycling his mana, unveiling his true emotions. "Use a water spell first, please." He opened his fist, his fingers smeared red.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her lips pressed thin, her earlier joy curdling at the sight of his crimson hand.
He gave a small, rueful smile. "Not my blood."
Hermione paled at the implication. Rose did too. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and managed only a shaky, "Good."
A sigh escaped him as she muttered a water spell, thoroughly drenching his hand. The sensation was cool and pleasant. It buried his rising anxiety; it offered him instant relief. He washed his hands for a full five minutes, rubbing his fingers raw and tender. Neither Hermione nor Rose complained. Daphne had found them in the meantime, telling them what had happened outside, warning them to brace themselves for what they'd see once they stepped out of the cell. Rose told her their story, too, how a blue-haired man made Hermione a hostage and forced Rose to enter the tent.
He listened in silence, pointedly avoiding Daphne's gaze. He didn't think he'd ever be able to meet her eyes. She had seen him. The true him. It wouldn't be surprising if they never talked again. It would be reasonable, really. She must be shocked and disgusted. His image in her head had been a lie. He must feel like a deceptive stranger to her. A feral wolf imitating a friendly dog. Already, she was talking around him rather than addressing him directly.
It would be a lie to say he hadn't hoped for better. A part of him had been praying that she'd treat him the same after the initial shock. That she'd remain unaffected. Of course, she wasn't. It had been a fool's hope. She'd seen him behead men without hesitation. It would obviously traumatise her, leave scars that would take eternity to heal. Her dreams would be hounded by today's event. So why should she bother with him again? He wouldn't if he were in her place. No wonder she was ignoring him. He deserved worse.
As he wiped his hands dry and allowed them to fall to his sides, soft fingers slipped into his.
It was Rose.
She held his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. It was the same hand that was tainted before, bloodied by violence. He gently tried to pry her off, but her grip tightened, their fingers intertwining. She refused to let go and tugged him closer, their shoulders brushing. If he hadn't already loved Rose the most—considered her more precious than everyone else—he would've done so then. He gave her a thankful nod and trailed after Daphne and Hermione. He had Rose, he reminded himself, who'd love him no matter what happened. Did he even need anyone else?
Even with the advance warning, Hermione bent over and retched when they came across the corpse in the hallway. Daphne's composure cracked; she hugged herself. Even Rose turned green, her grip tightening on his hand. Harry was unable to even glance at his handiwork.
He was glad when they finally moved. Though there were two corpses outside as well. He didn't want to see their faces when they found them.
"Are you really okay?" whispered Rose, rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand.
If it were someone else, he would've taken that as an insult, someone questioning whether he was right in the head or not. But no, Rose was actually asking if he was well after committing… this.
"As well as I can be after becoming a guillotine."
Even in the tense moment, she snorted at his lame joke, adding her own. "I'd say less guillotine and more of a club. There's no finesse, just pure blunt force. As if a troll had rampaged here."
"So, am I a club or a troll?" The knot in his chest loosened. Rose had that gift, always pulling him out of the abyss and throwing him onto a sunny beach. She was like the sun, truly: bright, lively and burning away the shadows clinging to him.
A grin split her face. "Troll."
"Really?" Daphne threw an exasperated look over her shoulder, butting in their moment. "Are you two really trading jokes now?" Even though she said that, her tight expression had relaxed as well, a ghost of a smirk passing her lips.
Harry quickly looked away and quietened, not wanting to sour her mood or make her uncomfortable.
"Will you stop that?" Daphne snapped, her eyes burning with a myriad of emotions. "Don't act like a kicked puppy. It's annoying. I don't hate you or anything, Harry. But I'm… confused, okay? I don't know how to talk to you after that. So give me some time, alright?"
"Alr—"
"Get off your high horse, Daph!" Rose cut him off, stepping between them, halting their procession. "He killed them to protect me. He's not some unhinged murderer! Stop treating him like one."
"I never said he was!" Daphne shot back, throwing up her hands. "And you stop pretending this is normal. You weren't there. I saw him shatter a man's head with one punch. One second he was speaking, and then—bam—blood and brain everywhere. Cut me some slack. I am freaking out. It's weird you aren't."
"Maybe I have a stronger stomach. Maybe I'm not all talk and then get scared by a few headless corpses." Rose's voice sharpened as she leaned nose-to-nose. "I don't care if you're freaked out, just don't take it out on him. He's already suffering. He doesn't need a selfish bitch telling him he's a monster."
"Don't put words in my mouth!" Daphne shoved her back. "I never called him a monster!"
Harry stood frozen, wanting to intervene but knowing he'd only make it worse.
"Girls!" Hermione barked, startling all three. "Enough. You can claw each other to pieces once we're out of this tent. Until then, shut up and move."
Daphne was the first to back down, spinning around and following Hermione.
Harry squeezed Rose's hand and led her after them. He loved her for sticking up for him, he really did, but he could've done without that verbal fight. Daphne wasn't being entirely unreasonable. Anyone would be confused and need time to get back to normal after witnessing exploding heads.
Outside, dozens of Aurors stood waiting. Some looked normal in grey robes while some had blue hair, their wands raised and pointed squarely at them.
"Brilliant," Daphne muttered.
~xXxXx~
It had been only a year since Amelia Bones became Minister of Magic, and already she regretted ever putting her name forward on that inauspicious day. As she made her way towards the edge of the campsite, trailed by her trusty bodyguard—Nymphadora Tonks—she cursed her past self yet again.
Today had been trying enough dealing with the delegation from Weep. Now, someone had gone and infiltrated their tent, murdering the foreigners. She might've rejoiced if she weren't the one who'd be held responsible for this.
Although she would shed no tears for them, the culprits must be punished.
These people from Weep barely deserved to be called civilised. They were only marginally better than beasts. From the moment Weep's Minister of Magic had met Amelia, her patience and restraint had been pushed to their limits. The squat, blue-haired man had taken every opportunity to remind her how things were done in his homeland, how women like her would be pelted to death for even imagining themselves leaders. Tonks had nearly hexed him before Amelia's glare stopped her.
Words were harmless. She wouldn't let a petty misogynist from a backward nation tarnish her reputation before the eyes of the world.
If only it had been just words. The real trouble began when one of Weep's men openly groped Tonks and tried to drag her away once they realised she was a Metamorphmagus. Nothing could hold Tonks back then. A fistfight broke out, and she demonstrated exactly why she was Amelia's best Auror. Unfortunately, as the face of Wizarding Britain, Amelia couldn't allow Tonks to go unpunished for breaking professionalism. She suspended her, effective tomorrow. She had to. Raxon, Weep's Minister, had disciplined his man for violating host-country rules as well. It would look dreadful if she didn't issue at least a nominal reprimand.
But as she reached the pink tent—barking orders for her aurors to herd the crowd—and saw the headless bodies, she realised everything until now had merely been a prelude. This was the true disaster. Members of a foreign delegation had been killed on British soil, under the watch of her own Aurors. This was a scandal of the highest order. These murders alone threatened to undermine her administration. If she couldn't even protect official delegates in a fortified camp, why would any nation trust her word again?
When she'd sent out the invitations for the Quidditch World Cup, she had implicitly promised safety. The campsite was meant to be a regulated temporary city, not a lawless wasteland. Now the credibility of her word had been called into question, and unless she handled this flawlessly, she would be branded an incompetent Minister, no better than her predecessor, Cornelius Fudge.
A man and three women stood outside the tent, beside the corpses. They were young, too young. Maybe not even adults yet.
"I want them executed!" Raxon hissed beside her as the aurors, half hers and half his, closed on the culprits. "To murder guests in broad daylight! To enter a Minister's tent without permission! Is this how you treat foreign sovereigns?"
Sovereign. What a hefty word for an inept bastard.
"Rest assured we'll get to the bottom of this." She marched forward, leaving him behind, moving towards the murderers.
"Boss!" Tonks hurried after her, raising her hand and shooting a look over her shoulder. Her aurors lowered their wands. At Raxon's command, the blue-haired aurors relaxed as well. "You can't just walk up to them!"
"Look closer, Tonks. They're children."
She heard the sharp intake of breath. "That's Rose Potter. And that's Daphne Greengrass. Then that must be Hermione Granger. I saw them in passing during my last year at Hogwarts."
Potter. Of course it had to be Lily's brood. She was so going to regret this. If anything happened to them, Lily would cause a bloodbath. Her children were the only thing holding her back. If they were gone, Lily would have no restraints again. And no one wanted the War Devil back.
Amelia had been on her side a decade and half ago, and she had still not liked Lily's reckless, unrepentant ways. Even years after the war, Lily and Sirius had continued making messes for the Ministry in their attempts to kill Lucius Malfoy. And while Amelia could sympathise with their thirst for revenge, no one was more happy than her when they finally stopped after their disastrous last attempt. Because that one almost killed innocents. Dumbledore and the Ministry weren't pleased, stepping in and giving them ultimatums.
The only reason the Ministry hadn't apprehended them was because of their contribution to the war and because Amelia herself favoured them. Those two idiots would never know the depths she had gone to prevent Fudge from throwing them into Azkaban. No matter how bloodthirsty and careless, they were the ones who had avenged her family. For that alone, she'd always look out for them.
Though she worried this might already be out of her hands. The crowd had already seen the children; she wouldn't be able to sweep this under the rug.
Reaching the four children, she fixed the sole boy among them with an expectant glare. "What's happened here?"
"I—"
The young redhead at his side cut him off, stepping forward and matching her glare. This was Lily's daughter; there was no doubt about it. "I killed these perverts. They kidnapped my friend, Hermione, here. Then they came for me, describing what obscene things they'd do to me. I couldn't hold back."
"She's lying!" The black-haired boy shoved her back, taking a protective stance. "I killed them, Ma'am. Daphne and Hermione can vouch for that."
"You're just a squib," said the self-sacrificial sister. Amelia assumed they were brother and sister since they resembled young Lily and James. "How would you even kill them? By punching them?"
"Shut up, idiot!" The boy groaned. "You don't have to sacrifice yourself for me."
"You don't have to lie for me, Harry. Now keep mum and let me take care of this."
It was very clear who was the murderer and who was not. The boy practically oozed guilt and trauma, while the girl was only concerned about saving him. Their interactions would be amusing in another situation.
Harry Potter was too young to commit murders, she thought, examining the headless bodies and the bloodied tent. Maybe these men from Weep were actually planning to abduct the girls and ended up dying at the boy's hands? Because she couldn't understand why else a teenager would do this without a reason. Unless, of course, he was a psychopath. Which he was not.
Amelia heaved a sigh and pinched her forehead. "Tonks, just arrest them all and get them to my tent. We'll sort out the truth later. First we need privacy."
"But boss, what if the girl isn't lying?" Tonks defended them, no doubt her bias against Weep colouring her perception. "What if there are more girls imprisoned inside the tent? You know how these men are."
Amelia almost snapped at her for questioning her authority in front of everyone. But then she saw a… way out. A glorious outcome.
How do you save face after a grave mistake? You make the other side look even worse, of course. If the delegation of Weep had truly been abducting women to traffic them to their island, these murders would not only be excusable but justified. It wouldn't be immature young adults going on a killing spree, but rather young heroes rescuing helpless damsels. And if some of the abductees happened to be from other nations? Even better. Then it wouldn't be just Britain versus Weep, but a coalition of civilised nations against the barbaric backwater regime.
"Tonks, take five and scour the tent."
She prayed there were girls trapped inside. Because this was a risky gamble. But if it paid off, she'd come out smelling of roses. The children's testimony could be enough to paint the delegation of Weep as villains, but definitive proof would make the whole affair quicker, cleaner, and far easier to sell to the international community.
Tonks nodded and strode in with her team.
"What is the meaning of this?" Raxon loped towards her, his round face pink with anger. "This is my tent. The Minister of Magic's tent! You can't just barge in without permission!"
Amelia didn't even bother looking at him, taking off her monocle and rubbing it with her handkerchief. "These children have a very interesting tale to tell." She shot him a sideway glance. "They're saying the girls were captured by your men. That they were to be taken back to your island. My aurors are just doing their job verifying the accusation. Either these four are lying, in which case they'll be tried for murders, or your men indeed cannot keep their hands to themselves, which isn't an unlikely case, considering what I've seen today."
"I can't control every single man under me." He shamelessly dodged accountability. "Even still, you cannot just enter my tent!" he blustered, his aurors raising their wands at her now. "There are rules and protocols, dammit. This is very unprofessional, Amelia. I will go to the ICW for this. I will revoke the two-hundred-year allied status of our nations. There will be no trade, you understand? Nothing."
This trade was what made the people of Weep so arrogant. Their island alone supplied sixty percent of the world's potion ingredients, and the only reason Britain imported them at a fraction of the usual price was its 'allied status'. Weep was their closest neighbour and their most important supplier.
It was, frankly, a foolish situation. She should bury this incident. She should throw these children to the gallows to appease a vital trade partner. That was what an astute politician would do. It was also what Fudge would have done, and she took pride in having more moral fibre than him.
And then there was Lily Potter to consider as well. Did she truly want to earn the hatred of a bloodthirsty madwoman? She knew exactly how far Lily and Sirius could go for revenge. The massacre at Parkinson Manor was proof enough. Not even little Pansy had been spared.
Absolutely not. Amelia would rather face an economic decline than risk Susan like that.
The sound of approaching footsteps distracted her from her thoughts. These were the ICW agents, the insignia on their robes making it clear. The two in the lead were known to her. Victor and Velora Trickett. The duo that took on the riskiest missions. They lived in England, just like her, but instead of working for their Ministry, they chose the ICW. It was a waste. Amelia would have loved having such decorated officers in the DMLE.
"We've heard there's been murders of high priority officials." Victor sauntered to them, waving at the Weep aurors to put their wands down. They did.
Victor was tall and broad, possessing tousled dark hair and piercing blue eyes. If she were a couple of decades younger, she'd have become tongue-tied at coming face to face with such a good-looking man. So it was good that she was neither young nor foolish. She put the monocle back on, maintaining a stern visage.
"Finally! Someone impartial. This woman has sent her minions in my tent without permission. And these rascals have killed members of my delegation. Arrest them at once."
Victor glanced at the quiet four children before turning to her, waiting for an explanation. So she told him what she knew. And his eyes narrowed.
"That's a grave accusation, Minister Bones." Victor crossed his arms behind his back, sweeping his gaze from her to the tent. "I hope you know there will be consequences if you find nothing inside. To rifle through a Minister's belongings as if he were a common thug is a serious offence."
"I know. I'll take responsibility." She nodded with confidence she didn't feel. Already, she was thinking of a resignation letter.
Shuffling of feet dragged her attention back to the entrance of the tent, and her eyes widened in horror and relief. Tonks led out six women. They were all on the younger side. The oldest in her early twenties and youngest no older than twelve. Their frightened, furtive movements told her everything she needed to know. Unlike Rose Potter and her friends, these poor girls weren't left untouched. Anger and pity surged within her, and she glowered at Raxon who did his best to look clueless.
"Some of these have been here since the first day of the World Cup." Tonks reported her findings, her jaw clenched, her shoulder-length choppy hair cycling between red and dull grey. "Two girls are from America. One from Korea. Two from Scotland. And one from France."
Amelia's soft gaze landed on the youngest girl. She had silver hair. A French Veela, no doubt. Her heart went out to her, but a part of her was relieved to find them all now. She could browbeat the Weep delegation without holding back. She would teach Raxon a lesson he would never forget.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Sten?" Victor rounded on him, wand at his side.
Raxon stayed upright, refusing to bow in defeat. "Whoever tormented these poor girls will be punished severely. You have my word."
…
…
Amelia grit her teeth and couldn't hold back, pressing her wand on his pudgy neck. "Enough, Raxon. You come to my land. You abduct my people. And you have the audacity to act clueless. I won't have this. I won't have any of it. Tonks, arrest him!"
"Gladly." Tonks moved to cuff him.
"Mr Trickett, I demand sanctuary. I request a safe passage to my country. It appears Madam Bones is adamant on framing me for crimes that I haven't committed." Raxon remained at ease, confident in his safety. "This is a political war on my nation."
Victor appeared conflicted.
"The accusations are horrible, Minister Bones. There is enough proof to charge him accessory to the crime, even abettor. But he's still the Minister of Magic. I have to comply with the rules. He has demanded sanctuary, and I shall give it. You may contact ICW and lodge a formal complaint for his arrest within forty-eight hours." Victor said with great reluctance, stepping between Raxon and a shocked Tonks. "By ICW protocol 47A, a foreign Minister accused on foreign soil must be remanded to ICW provisional custody until political interference can be ruled out."
"You mean to say you'll let him go?" Amelia couldn't believe her eyes. "Isn't there already abundant proof of his crimes?"
"There will be once you take statements from the victims. But until then, he still has the rights of a Minister. Rules are rules, Minister Bones. I apologise, but I'll take it from here." The ICW aurors moved to form a shield around Raxon Sten, preparing to escort him away.
This was madness! Allowing a monster to go free because of technicalities. But she understood. This was politics and bureaucracy. She had no delusion that Raxon would be punished. By the time she delivered the proof, he'd make arrangements with ICW and flee justice. Weep might be a tiny island nation, but its near monopoly on potion ingredients had made it many friends. He might not even lose his position!
A blur sped past her. Amelia stumbled back as Harry Potter went straight for Raxon, lunging with his fist cocked back.
"Harry, NO!" screamed Rose Potter.
~xXxXx~
Velora had been bored. So bored.
Usually, they were sent on real missions where she could let loose, where she could feed her sin of wrath. But this one was different. It was a babying mission, where they had to keep everything in order instead of wrecking havoc. Or so she had thought until now. Because it just became interesting.
The news of murders had gotten her intrigued, and when they pushed through the crowd and reached the site, there was a drama to watch. A minister versus minister. She remained behind Pride, letting him do all the boring talk while she observed wryly.
The pink tent was conveniently separated from the maze of rows and columns of other tents. It sat at the edge of the woods, barely under the protection of the wards. A winding dirtpath on her left connected it to the big, crowdy mess where everyone else was. Presently, curious onlookers had bunched from end to end, cutting off the entire area from the rest of the 'city'. Right in front of her, some dozen steps away was the tent itself, its entrance painted red from the blood of headless corpses. Four teenagers stood there quietly, listening to everything but never uttering a word. Velora found it odd that such young children could carry out kills like these.
A few minutes later, the English Auror—Tonks, perhaps—escorted the victims of the Minister's lust out from the tent.
She sniffed, disgusted. Weep was known to her, a tyrannical regime with extreme patriarchy, where women weren't allowed to practise magic, where their hands were gloved before the strangers, as if it were some erogenous zone. This whole 'Weep' inflamed her wrath, calling to her like a siren. Maybe she'd visit that tiny country soon and sink it to the bottom of the ocean.
Then she heard her brother, her brow furrowing.
Pride's decision to aid the disgusting Minister angered her. But she knew he was just doing his job, even if he must find this whole thing amusing. He might be privately hundred times worse than this Raxon Sten, but publicly he still had to act like a law-abiding chivalrous officer.
She was half-listening to the boring talk when her senses prickled. Something was very wrong. A spell was enacted just now. Straightening up, she looked to her left, at the entertained crowd. There were too many to identify the one who was doing… whatever this was. Then she looked directly ahead, at the teenagers, who were growing red by each second, Pride's words clashing with their morality. That boy might do something foolish. She'd keep an eye on him. But he was not the source of this uneasy feeling, of this strange spell. Then she looked at her right—
She didn't get to search for the one because the boy actually did the foolish thing and charged at them.
"Harry, NO!"
His speed was extraordinary; she'd give him that. If she were someone else, she might've had problems tracking him. But she was Wrath, the second strongest Trickett after Emily. Jumping before the Minister, she caught the boy's fist with ease.
Her hand broke with a snap.
…
…
Now that was interesting. Grinning, she signalled Pride to keep the others away and squared up against the boy, her broken arm mending instantly.
The boy noticed her ridiculous regeneration, and his eyes became the size of saucers.
He threw another punch, not holding back. But she was prepared this time. She caught it without breaking her hand and yanked him closer, kneeing him in the face.
His nose broke, and he grunted in pain, staggering back.
She ignored his sister's scream.
He earned her respect for not dropping to his knees, for not surrendering in the face of the unknown. Even with blood running down his misshapen nose, his green eyes glowed with wrath.
Her body warmed in pleasure, her smile widening. 'Show me more wrath!' She wanted to shriek in joy.
She gestured at him to come again. And he did with a furious yell, punching with all his might. She ducked under it and decked him across his cheek, sending him sprawling on the ground.
"What are you, a single-minded bull?" She sighed, taunting him. "You have tremendous power but no technique. Hone your wrath, boy. Sharpen it. Consume it but don't let it consume you. And for Merlin's sake, vary your punches."
He rose on unsteady feet, spitting out a tooth, blood dripping down his chin, his eyes bruised. "Shut up," he mumbled.
She bit back a laugh and stepped forward to explode his head like he had theirs. There was no need for investigation. They've found their killer. This boy did not use a wand; he didn't need to. His fists had unprecedented power.
Before her punch could land, Pride grabbed her wrist and diverted it away, kicking the boy back at the same time, creating a distance between them.
Everyone was looking.
That was enough to make her realise she almost blew her cover. She regained her composure and nodded at her brother. Emily would have her hide if she was the reason their family was outed. She was a dutiful ICW auror, not a monster overwhelmed by her sin.
"Is it fun punching my son?" A dry voice came from the left. The crowd parted and a beautiful redhead walked over to them. She was dressed in a tight blood-red dress that drew eyes to her alluring physique. Her scarlet hair fell loose at her back, and her gait possessed unwavering confidence. But it was her face that got Velora's attention. Now that was wrath sharpened to its best.
"Just teaching him not every fight can be won with a lousy punch." She shrugged, sizing her up.
But the redhead didn't spare her another glance, gently helping her son up and leading him away to the other side, where the other three teenagers and the tormented victims were. "I agree. That's a good lesson. You have my thanks."
"It was a pleasure." She grinned.
A silence then descended on them. Even the massive crowd on her left had fallen silent. The Britain's Minister of Magic was gaping at the redhead, as if she'd seen a demon; her eyes were full of dread and apprehension.
Pride seemed to recognise her as well, a grudging interest visible to those who knew him.
Interesting. She'd have to ask him who this woman was.
With the boy safe and sound, the redhead turned towards her daughter and asked, "What happened?"
"These men from Weep captured us to take us back to their island. These girls with us… they've been hurt by them. We have proof that the minister and his people are evil scums, but the ICW is interfering in his arrest for some reason."
"I see."
"Lily, don't." Amelia Bones implored. "Don't do anything rash. I'm taking care of it, I promise. Think of you children."
"Mrs Potter, I ask you to forego your infamous shenanigans. We're just doing our jobs. I promise you Raxon Sten will be punished if he's proven guilty." Even her brother was looking wary and alert. Not scared, mind you, nothing short of Emily scared him.
Who was this interesting woman? She had never been more curious.
Lily Potter ignored their words and looked at Raxon. "You tried to lay your hand on my daughter?"
"That's what your minister has accused me of. But I'm innocent."
Lily Potter smiled and reached for her wand, but before she could, every auror had their own wands aimed at her. Even the British aurors. Even Minister Bones herself.
"Drop your wand and leave. You're making a mistake. Think of your bloody children!" Amelia Bones tried again, her desperation clear for all to see.
"Oh my, am I that terrifying?" Lily chortled and raised her hands up in surrender. "Ah, this takes me back to the good old days. And yes, Amelia, I am thinking of my children. They're watching me, you know. I can't allow them to think their mother will hesitate to fight anyone for them. Today has been a good day for learning opportunities. I think I can squeeze in one more lesson. That no matter how much money you have, no matter if you're a Minister or a house elf. One power trumps all. Magic."
She snapped her fingers and the earth rumbled.
Velora leapt back as the ground rose to break her. A single kick smashed the massive hand to pieces, the boom of the impact echoing like a cannon blast as dirt and shards sprayed outward. The crowd panicked and ran away. And as the dust settled, she realised this was just a distraction.
Every man from Weep was… gone. Twenty-seven precise, five-foot-wide holes yawned where they had stood. Velora peeped into the hole nearest to her, where the minister had been.
He was impaled on a nasty spike. It had skewered him through the chest, his body limp and arched, unseeing eyes wide and shocked.
The entire Weep delegate shared a similar fate. She had killed them all with a snap of her fingers.
What a woman!
She noticed the rage in Pride's eyes at being bested. This would be his first failed assignment. His perfect score was marred forever. He hadn't been able to save a man under his protection. Whether she knew or not, Lily Potter had gained a life-long enemy. If it were someone else, she'd have felt pity for the poor woman. But the redhead had proved herself brilliant.
Velora realised she was laughing giddily.
Ah, this was such a good day. Both the mother and son were interesting. She hoped to fight them together.
Under Pride's glare, she stifled her laughter, sharing a respectful nod with Lily Potter.
"I surrender." Lily offered her hands to Amelia Bones as the British aurors snapped their wands back at her. "I don't want to kill your men."
"I will take your surrender." Pride snapped, snatching her wrist. "You've committed mass killings. You've murdered a Minister of Magic. This is an international matter."
"Is it?" Lily eyed him, as if she could see through him, wrenching her hand back. "Do not touch me, Creep."
Before it could escalate further, the other minister made her move.
"Lily Potter acted under British Defence Statute 19C: lethal force permissible against foreign operatives committing crimes on British soil. I am issuing an immediate Ministerial Pardon for her. She's not getting arrested by either of us." Madam Bones declared, pulling Lily behind her.
…
…
"You can't be serious! You're protecting her. This is not proper at all, Madam Bones." Pride was being petulant now. Velora thought he should just quit before he ruined his heroic image.
"You can file a petition in ICW within forty-eight hours, then. Now move, Mr Trickett. I'm just following rules and regulations," Amelia Bones said, her words carrying a hint of sarcasm.
It looked like Pride would raise his wand, but then he shut his mouth and flounced away like a drama queen he was, waving the other ICW officers to follow him.
Before leaving, Velora regarded the bloodied face of Lily's son and offered a suggestion. "Learn Muay Thai. It will suit your style. So next time we spar, you can do more than throw an awful punch."
She blinked when he actually nodded instead of taking offence.
Good boy. Pride could learn something from him.
Nodding back, she hurried after her brother. With how angry he was, some poor muggles were going to suffer for weeks. If he weren't family, she would've actually killed him by now. His depravity even made her uneasy. But oh well, he was family, so it was a moot point.