Anduin smiled—a dreadful, predatory curve of his lips that was devoid of any kindness. He looked down at the shivering figure of Wilkes, who was prone and broken in a puddle of water and sweat.
"So, do you feel that your memory is working more efficiently now?" Anduin asked, his voice smooth and unsettlingly calm, as if inquiring about a malfunctioning timepiece.
"Ha… ha…" Wilkes gasped, his lungs burning with every ragged intake of air. He stared at the expressionless abyss that was Anduin's face. "What… what is it you want to know? I'll tell you… anything…"
"That's far more cooperative," Anduin replied, his sarcasm dripping like ice water. "Let's start with the obvious, shall we? Who attacked the Longbottoms?"
"I… I only know the names," Wilkes stammered, his body twitching with residual panic. "It was the Lestrange family. Rabastan, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus. They've been moving erratically, hiding out since the Dark Lord's disappearance. The Longbottoms were Aurors; they were certainly the target of the remaining fanatics. I truly don't know anything else, I swear it!"
"The Lestrange family. Bella, Sirius's older sister," Anduin murmured to himself, the grim irony of the situation not lost on him. Bellatrix, the purest-blood fanatic, torturing the heroes who helped defeat the Dark Lord, while her cousin Sirius, wrongly accused, rotted in Azkaban. "Where are they now? Where would such rats go to ground?"
"I have no idea! My uncle… he died last year, and the rest of my family holds no great status among the inner circle of the Death Eaters. I'm telling you the truth!" Wilkes cried, truly terrified now. He didn't dare meet Anduin's eyes; the black holes of the boy's gaze were enough to trigger fresh terror. "If you want details on the higher echelons, you need to ask Travers! His family, the Samples, are far more prominent. He'll know the hiding spots!"
Travers, still lying compressed on the floor from Anduin's initial attack, his body aching but his pride intact, managed to curse loudly now that the Sona Expellere charm had faded. "Wilkes, you sniveling coward! What in the seven hells are you doing? I know nothing that you don't! Anduin, if you dare to touch me, the Travers network will hunt you down! You won't get away with this!"
Anduin ignored Wilkes entirely, silencing the broken boy with a quick, non-verbal Stunning Spell that dropped him into blessed unconsciousness. He turned his deep, dark eyes onto the screaming Travers. The hysterical curses of the boy had no effect on Anduin. His face was a cold mask, an expressionless void that settled deeply into Travers's frantic mind.
"Finite Incantatem, then a quick, non-lethal Concussive Charm," Anduin murmured, waving his wand over Travers.
The Reverse Bell hex was canceled, but the powerful force of the follow-up charm sent Travers crashing through the air, hitting the stone floor with a painful, dizzying impact.
Travers didn't scream again. He saw Anduin's feet standing before him and slowly looked up at the terrifying, expressionless face looming over him. Travers swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at him to flee, but his broken body refused to obey.
"I realized I was relying on brute force with Wilkes," Anduin said, his grin returning, a slow, dark thing that made the skin crawl. "I know about Legilimency, how could I forget to use it? It's far more efficient than your pathetic screaming."
"You—you won't come any closer!" Travers stammered, trying to scramble backward, but an invisible, crushing force wrapped around him like a powerful serpent.
The force gently, almost lovingly, lifted him from the cold stone. He floated suspended in the air before Anduin, his eyes level with the boy's dark gaze.
"Look at me, Travers," Anduin commanded, his voice a sudden, harsh crack of authority.
Travers, his will already shattered by the physical attack and the spectacle of Wilkes's torture, obeyed instinctively. He looked into Anduin's eyes and saw not pupils, but two infinitely deep black holes, swirling with knowledge and cold purpose, relentlessly drawing his consciousness inward.
Legilimens.
The mental shield that Travers had (poorly) constructed—a thin, flimsy curtain of pureblood arrogance and basic Occlumency training—shredded instantly upon contact with Anduin's brutal, focused intrusion.
To Anduin's powerful, practiced gaze, the young wizard's mind was an open book: a poorly organized library, the memories lying exposed on shelves, waiting to be read.
Anduin drove through the immediate surface thoughts—fear, hatred, pain—and bypassed them, seeking the deep, relevant memories associated with his family's connections.
The surroundings blurred, the swirling clouds transforming after a short, confusing turmoil into the interior of a magnificent, ancient mansion. It was elegantly appointed, draped in antique velvet and adorned with silverware that must have dated back centuries. This was the Travers family seat.
Anduin's focus settled on a familiar, arrogant young face: Travers's uncle, a known Death Eater.
"Sampur, soon the Dark Lord's glory will envelop these lands. Look how the Travers family will soon become even more powerful!" the uncle boasted, throwing his head back in a theatrical, loud laugh. In the young Travers's memory, this uncle was a figure of absolute power and security.
The memory abruptly fractured, dissolving into a fresh, billowing fog before congealing into a new scene. Anduin was now in a dark, humid room that served as a private library and treasury. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with obscure tomes and strange, glowing alchemical ingredients.
A figure appeared beside the young Sampur: his mother, Julia Travers, a severe woman with long, pale-blond hair pulled back tightly.
"The Dark Lord commanded us to deliver some high-value dark magical items to my brother at Malfoy Manor for safekeeping," Julia said briskly, taking young Sampur by the hand. She moved swiftly, selecting several ordinary-looking notebooks bound in black leather, a strange, carved statue of a serpent, and various other unsettling artifacts from the surrounding shelves.
Young Sampur, ever curious, pointed to a thick, rope-like object, about a meter long, that looked like ancient, dried roots. "Mom, what is this?"
Julia chuckled, a dry, prideful sound. "That is a dragon heart tendon from the infamous 'Black Dragon of the Hehidari Isles.' It is exceptionally rare—a complete, lengthy tendon like this is almost impossible to obtain. I was considering splitting it to craft a set of high-grade cores for new wands, or perhaps an alchemical stabilizing tool for you one day, my darling."
She paused, turning to her son, her expression suddenly serious. "You must never forget this room, Sampur. This is the foundation—the true accumulated power—that has allowed the Travers family to thrive in the Wizarding World for so long. It is our legacy."
"But aren't we born noble?" Sampur asked, mimicking the lessons he had been taught. "We have noble blood running through our veins; we are naturally different from those filthy Muggles."
Julia's smile vanished. "Your uncle told you that again, didn't he?" she said with sudden anger. "Never mistake inherited status for true power. Even with noble blood, you must not be complacent. Always remember that blood only opens the door; true power is found in the knowledge you gather and the alliances you maintain."
The memory of the dark treasury dissolved again, replaced by a new, more immediate scene: Malfoy Manor.
The entrance hall was vast and coldly opulent. Julia Travers held Sampur's hand as they approached two figures: Lucius Malfoy, his long, almost white-blond hair meticulously combed, and beside him, Narcissa Malfoy, elegant and cool, cradling a small, platinum-haired child in her arms—a young Draco.
"Lucius, Narcissa, it's been too long!" Julia said, forcing a social smile. "My word, has little Draco grown so much already?"
"Julia, you look as beautiful as ever," Narcissa replied with a genuine, if slightly strained, smile. "Lucius even prepared a magnificent feast when he heard you were coming to deliver the transfer items."
Lucius, however, was distracted, tapping his ornate cane impatiently. "Dobby! Dobby!" he shouted, his voice sharp with irritation. "Forgive me, Julia, our new house-elf is not behaving with the proper deference or speed."
After Lucius yelled several times, a rather young-looking house-elf, barely taller than Sampur, appeared next to his master, bowing so low his nose nearly scraped the marble floor. "Sir, what are your orders?"
"You insolent idiot, how can you react so slowly?" Lucius roared, unable to contain his frustration. He raised his cane—a highly polished piece of wood with a silver serpent head—and struck the house-elf twice, sharp, stinging blows. "Where is the dessert I commanded you to prepare for our guests?"
"I am terribly sorry, Master, so sorry! Dobby will bring it immediately," the house-elf pleaded in a low, tense, terrified voice, his large eyes wide with fear and distress.