BXBX NOVEL Chapter 352 He Strikes Again?
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A single candlestick glowed in the darkroom.
The door creaked open, and Peter Pettigrew stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He stared at the sole figure illuminated by the candle and internally sighed. Since when had he become the messenger? In charge of relaying the news to the Dark Lord, risking his well-being every time Voldemort was in a bad mood or had terrible news.
Pettigrew didn’t break the silence and stood beside the door, waiting.
After a couple of minutes, Voldemort spoke, “Speak, Wormtail.”
“Barty is missing, My Lord,” said Pettigrew bluntly. “He was shot down during the Hogwarts Express attack. According to his team, he fell off his broom and disappeared before they knew it. The same goes for the Aurors; there hasn’t been any information about Barty’s arrest.”
There was no response from Voldemort, and Pettigrew, too, stayed silent until Voldemort finally spoke,
“Who shot Barty down?”
“It is not known, My Lord. Barty’s team said that the spell came from the roof. The roof was only occupied by Aurors. . . so we think that one of the Aurors shot Barty down. . . but—”
“— but then where did Barty go?” completed Voldemort.
“Yes. None of the Aurors left the train. The question of Barty’s disappearance still remains. If you could use the Dark Mark to contact him. . . .”
The Dark Mark. An honor bestowed upon the Death Eaters by Voldemort, signifying their value in the eyes of the Dark Lord. The mark had various use, and one of them was that Voldemort could issue a summons to his marked Death Eaters. It was up to them if they wanted to answer those summons, but only a few dared to refuse the Dark Lord’s summons.
“Hmm. . . . Give me your arm, Wormtail.”
Pettigrew walked to the Voldemort’s chair, and being this close, he could finally see the Dark Lord’s visage. Voldemort was wrapped in bandages from head to toe, with a pungent smell wafting from the medicinal pastes applied underneath the wrappings. When Pettigrew presented his marked arm, Voldemort raised his trembling arm slowly.
Pettigrew kept his face and body still under his control. He knew that the ruthless Dark Lord was having a moment of calmness, a rarity since he had returned from Numengard in the Austrian Alps. Whatever happened there had left Voldemort severely injured, so injured that even now, after several days, the injuries had persisted.
Voldemort touched the Dark Mark, which was lighter from its usual darkness. Pettigrew clenched his jaw as a burning pain shot up his arm. The mark’s color bubbled and darkened, the blacks turning blacker and the red tuning bloodier. . . until the mark returned to normal.
“. . . Bartemius is trapped or dead,” said Voldemort.
‘Or he defected,’ thought Pettigrew, but his thoughts remained unsaid. While he understood Barty’s personality and devotion, he didn’t believe in absolute trust— he believed that even someone as messed up as Bellatrix would turn if someday the Dark Lord turned to the light side. . . a hypothetical that he could never see happening.
“. . . Bartemius is still in the country,” Voldemort said, his voice flat.
Pettigrew quirked his brow. ‘So it was true that he could track the marked Death Eaters down. . . or at least could tell the general position,’ he thought. The last time he had suspected of this was when the Dark Lord had hunted down Igor Karkaroff. . . and they had been able to find the traitorous man surprisingly easily.
“Can you tell if he’s dead?” asked Wormtail.
“It takes time for the body to decompose and break down. The mark will remain true for some time after death. . . that is if Bartemius is dead. . . . What do you think happened to him?”
“I don’t know enough to form a conjecture,” said Pettigrew.
“Take a guess, Wormtail.”
Pettigrew thought for a bit. “I believe that the Aurors, or at least a group of Aurors, are operating independently. . . or covertly under orders. My guess is that they abducted Barty so they could interrogate him to get information about us. He cannot use his mark to escape, nor can he use the extra portkey issued to him— Aurors have him trapped.”
“But they could do the same if they simply arrested him.”
“They could, but if it’s not on the official records, they could use Legilimency to force the information out of his mind without having to face the very severe laws prohibiting the use of the mind arts in interrogations.”
“Ah, those laws, the fact that those particular ones exist slipped from my mind,” said Voldemort.
“It could be that, but would Rufus Scrimgeour permit this?” asked Pettigrew. “He seems to be a stickler for rules; would he break the law?”
“You misunderstand him, Wormtail,” said Voldemort. “Rufus Scrimgeour is what you call a lion. He isn’t like Amelia Bones, who would die before getting caught breaking the law. And he would is anything but Cornelius Fudge. . . People like Scrimgeour will go to lengths to accomplish what he wants to achieve— I would not put it past him to resort to such methods.”
Pettigrew made a mental note of that. He was sure that he was going to have to deal with Rufus Scrimgeour in some time. It was better to have a hand on the pulse of the important people.
“Then what is your command on this, My Lord,” asked Pettigrew.
“. . . I will tell you the part of the country Bartenius is in. Search for him. If he is alive, I want to see him tell me what happened. If he is dead, get me his corpse. He needs to be rewarded for his service and devotion.”
Pettigrew bowed.
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Quinn stood up from the ground. He removed his gloves as he stared down at Barty Crouch’s body.
“You know, I do not like using Legilimency this way,” said Quinn, narrowing his eyes at spasming caused as a side-effect of brute-force Legilimency. “I prefer the gentler, more elegant approach, the one that doesn’t leave a trace— it is one the things my master insists is a sign of a true master Legilimens— to leave as if you never came.” Quinn’s face twitched in disgust, “But, what have you done. . . every decision you have made has affected innocents, spilled so much blood, destroyed lives, families. . . . I could not stop myself from being forceful.”
Despite being under his father’s Imperius for more than a decade, Barty Crouch had done so many vile deeds before his incarceration that even those among the Death Eaters would find their stomachs turn. Barty had gotten back on track with his activities right after his freedom— it was as if the man had been starved of his appetite for blood, fear, and agony— and like a hungry maniac, Barty had done everything to abate his unending cravings.
“I wish to purge my brain from what I have seen. . . but at least I got some precious information from it,” said Quinn. “Some very useful information. . . the Dark Lord is injured.”
Barty’s body twitched, different from his spasming.
“If I had to mention your one positive quality, it would be loyalty, but unfortunately, it is not to the correct party,” said Quinn.
Barty’s spasms had calmed down. His eyes regained partial focus as he glared at Quinn. “M-M-y Lor-d-d is goi. . . to kill you!” he spat.
“I would not put it past him, but how would he know that I was the one who brought you here.”
“H-He will kno-ow.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. He had scoured Barty’s memory, and he couldn’t recall anything that would implicate him. But then he realized that it was Barty’s fanatic worship talking.
“Then so be it,” Quinn shrugged. “But do you think the Dark Lord will come with his injuries? What do you think? I do not think he will.”
“He w-will!”
“If that helps you feel good in your heart,” Quinn said but at the same time thought, ‘I need stop now. . . too much of Quinn West is leaking out,’ he looked down on his suit, ‘I blame these clothes.’
“You have run your usefulness, Bartemius Crouch Junior,” Quinn put on his leather gloves back. “But unfortunately for you, now I have to end this.” Quinn raised his hand, and a green glow covered his hand. “You are going to be the second one I am going to send away directly— you are going to stay in my mind forever. And believe me, I do not like the thought of that— but I am not going to stop.”
“M-My Lord will—”
Quinn unleashed the killing curse on Barty, cutting the guy’s thread of life.
“Hmm, I don’t feel guilty. . . I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. . . but I like it.”
He stared down at Barty’s dead body and sighed, “Let’s dig you a grave. Most deserve one; you do too.”
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Pettigrew stared at the grave in the middle of a forest. It looked freshly dug, even had a simple headstone with the dead man’s name. He looked around. The place did not look somewhere Aurors would operate— he thought it would be more of a secure, underground bunker.
“Did you find anything?” he asked.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” said a member of the search party.
“. . . It doesn’t look like this was Aurors doing.”
Pettigrew turned to his left and saw Rivers Lock peering down at the headstone with indifferent eyes.
“No, it doesn’t. Who do you think it was then?”
Rivers shook his head. “I don’t know enough to speculate.”
“Take a guess,” said Pettigrew.
River’s eyes studied Barty’s grave. Pettigrew could tell that the devious mind behind those dead eyes was turning in thought.
“Invisible Vigilante,” said Rivers. “A ridiculous name.”
Pettigrew blinked in surprise, “Why do you say that?”
“This doesn’t look like Aurors’ work. The Order of Phoenix won’t do this, or at least not like this. The third, but the most probable option is him— he somehow knows what we are going to do and wholeheartedly opposes us. He killed three of ours before and must’ve decided to take out a more prominent one this time.”
“There is no evidence that it was the Invisible Vigilante.”
Rivers shrugged, “It is just a guess.”
Pettigrew wanted to dispute, but the more the thought stayed in his mind, the more it started to feel like it fit. There were others who would have loved to take revenge against Barty, but as far as he knew, there wasn’t anyone who had the capability to do it or the means to know that Barty was going to be present at the train attack.
“What should tell him,” asked Rivers.
Pettigrew shook his head, “We don’t offer conjectures to the Lord. He is resting, maybe when he is feeling well.”
Rivers stayed silent, and Peter took that as his ascent. He turned to the other Death Eaters around him and ordered,
“Let’s dig the body up if there is one remaining.”
After all. . . the Invisible Vigilante wasn’t famous for being kind and peaceful with those he came across.
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Quinn West – MC – His clothes help him separate his two personas.
Barty Crouch Junior – Death Eater – His headstone only had his name written on it.
Peter Pettigrew – Death Eater – The messenger.
Rivers Lock – Death Eater – Just speculating.
Voldemort – Dark Lord – Injured by another Dark Lord.
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