HP: Man of Archives

We continued our journey, witnessing more and more mountains of corpses along the way. Some were massive, others smaller. Weak demons scurried among them, but I dispatched them effortlessly. To preserve the remains, I sealed the mountains of corpses into square stones, chilled for storage.

"Here," I said, pointing to a spot that seemed suitable. It was a slight hill rising above the surrounding terrain. The barrier cut off the area further out, dipping into the lowlands. All in all, it was an excellent location for defense.

With a wave of my wand, I enlarged the hill. A second wave scorched away the grass and vegetation, leaving molten stone in its place. A third wave cooled the surface. From there, the work progressed quickly—flattening the area, constructing a shelter, and adding narrow slits akin to arrow loops for defense.

"Get inside. Quickly."

There was no need to repeat myself. The recent horrors had left a deep mark on them. I was certain that many, if not all, would require professional help. The sight of mountains of corpses takes a heavy toll on sensitive minds.

With another wave of my wand, I opened my bag and retrieved several dozen artifacts. Positioning them along the walls, I set up an initial line of defense. The second line, completed swiftly, relied on layered spells. Judging by their shaken state, I doubted these people would make effective defenders.

Stepping outside, I transfigured a dozen animals and assigned them to guard the perimeter, destroy any approaching demons, and neutralize their accomplices. Before departing, I added a simple alert system to summon me back should the situation deteriorate.

I hadn't ventured far when a group of demon accomplices attacked. They were young wizards, likely recent graduates. Even with demonic enhancements, they lacked the skill and experience to pose any real threat. Neutralizing them was a trivial task.

With demons and wizards clashing elsewhere, I needed to head to the epicenter of the conflict. Transforming into a bird, I took to the sky for a better view of the battlefield. What I saw was bleak: scattered, torn bodies lay everywhere, sometimes in grotesque heaps like those near the barrier's edge. The fighting was fragmented, dispersed across multiple skirmishes.

The wizards were scattered in small groups, desperately trying to fend off the attacking demonic creatures. The first group I encountered was on the brink of annihilation, teetering on the edge of becoming yet another pile of corpses. I wouldn't let that happen.

Landing in front of a short teenager, I deflected a magical attack that would have torn him apart. A swift protection spell saved a woman fiercely battling a group of demon accomplices, sparing her life and giving her the opportunity to launch a devastating counterattack. The attacking wizard fell, reduced to a disheveled heap, as the sorceress unleashed her fury in a torrent of magic.

With the realization that they had support, the wizards regained their morale. A wave of my wand unleashed a blast toward a demon. Like many of its kind, it arrogantly took the attack head-on, confident it would resurrect afterward. But I am not like other wizards. Absorbing its soul, I turned my focus to the next foe.

In a matter of moments, all the attackers were either destroyed or incapacitated.

"Thank you," said an unfamiliar wizard, his breath ragged as he tried to steady himself. His thick accent made his gratitude sound particularly earnest.

"You're Timothy Jodie, aren't you?" the sorceress I had saved exclaimed, her voice rising with recognition. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

The young boy I had rescued stared up at me with wide, awe-filled eyes.

"Yes," I confirmed with a nod, addressing her. "How are you all holding up?"

"It could be better," the unfamiliar wizard admitted, glancing at an elderly man nearby who was crouched down, clearly drained. Though not a demon accomplice, the older wizard had been fighting with everything he had, though age was clearly taking its toll.

"What should we do next?" the young wizard asked.

"It's hard to say," I replied thoughtfully. "I need to move on and assist others. Killing these demons is no easy task."

"Of course," the old man finally spoke. "One creature I thought I'd killed came back again!"

"I have a personal artifact that has proven quite effective in permanently destroying demons," I replied.

"So what should we do?" the woman asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"You can either dig in here or follow me," I said calmly. "But I'll be heading toward the most dangerous battles."

"Then we'll dig in," the old man decided, brushing his hands against his trousers as he stood up.

"Excellent."

Once more, I transformed into a bird and took to the skies, scanning for the next group. It didn't take long to find one. Landing nearby, I swiftly dispatched the demons without much ceremony or conversation. The wizards, naturally, wanted to talk—mostly about the demons and their experiences—but I cut the discussion short, directing them toward the first group I'd encountered. Working together would increase their chances of survival and make defending against further attacks easier.

The next two groups I found were also small and appeared thoroughly drained. I eliminated the demons with precision, pointed them toward the growing group of survivors, and moved on without delay.

Before long, I came across a much larger group—around fifty wizards—forming a circular defense against a dozen demons and over a hundred demonic accomplices. How had they managed to hold out for so long? The answer was immediately clear: among the wizards, I spotted Snape, McGonagall, and Flitwick.

Even with their extraordinary abilities, the combined strength of these three exceptional wizards wasn't enough to turn the tide entirely. Their defenses were faltering, and without intervention, it was only a matter of time before the barrier broke and a massacre followed—a localized one, but no less devastating.

I dropped right into the midst of the demons. With a precise slash of my wand, one demon was cleaved clean in half. Blood sprayed in every direction, but I ignored it, already shifting focus to my next target.

A powerful magical strike tore through that demon and two more behind it. Afterward, it became a matter of cleanup. Three demons in one strike—not a bad outcome. Dodging an incoming attack, I absorbed another into a wandless magical shield. Simultaneously, my wand unleashed two attack spells, reducing two more demons to a bloody pulp.

Spinning my body like a whirlwind, I flung several demons back ten meters. One of their accomplices lunged at me, but what could he possibly achieve? At that moment, Snape and Flitwick entered the fray, and spotting an opportunity, they seized it immediately.

Working with them proved surprisingly seamless. Within a few beats of the battle, we had developed an unspoken rhythm, understanding how each of us would react in different scenarios. Snape and Flitwick allowed me to act as the primary attacking force, recognizing that I could channel as much magical energy into a single spell as they might expend over a hundred, all without tiring.

Their assistance wasn't critical to the outcome—I could have handled the demons on my own—but it certainly made the battle more efficient. The demons attempted counters, and occasionally, they succeeded. In such moments, I simply layered additional defenses, each requiring a distinct approach to break. Ultimately, the demons were reduced to "zero," and their accomplices were bound and left helpless.

"Mr. Jodie," Flitwick greeted me warmly. "It's good to see you in good health."

"The feeling is mutual, Professor Flitwick," I replied with a respectful nod. "Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, it's a pleasure to see you as well, though the circumstances leave much to be desired."

"Pfft," Snape scoffed. "As if the situation could ever be described as pleasant. I shouldn't even be here."

"Mr. Jodie," Minerva greeted me with a nod. "I'm relieved to see you. You arrived just in time. If I'm not mistaken, you've encountered creatures like these before?"

"Yes, in Paris," I confirmed with a nod. As we spoke, the wizards who were still able to act began tending to the injured, who were gathered at the center of the defensive circle. "Back then, we faced much stronger demons—hundreds of times stronger, I'd say."

"Timothy," Flitwick called, drawing my attention. "Do you know what kind of magic this is? I've never seen a spell like it before."

He gestured toward the barrier encircling the area, separating it from the outside world.

"It's an inverted siege barrier," I explained. "It's powered by an artifact hidden somewhere nearby. Its purpose is to prevent anyone from leaving."

"I see," Flitwick said with a thoughtful nod. "Then we need to locate this artifact and either deactivate it or destroy it."

"Yes, we should," I agreed. "But first, I need to eliminate all the demons. If we don't deal with them, they'll only cause more harm."

"Mr. Jodie," McGonagall said with a sigh, "do what you must. We'll focus on finding the artifact and let you know when we do."

"Excellent," I replied with a nod. "Give me a signal when you locate it."

"Understood," Flitwick acknowledged firmly.

Once more, I transformed into a bird and took to the skies. The sound of the next group reached me from a great distance, making them easy to find. This group was likely the largest I had seen so far, surrounded by the most demons and accomplices yet.

The group was encircled but fought remarkably well. Aurors and numerous other wizards were holding their ground, successfully repelling the demonic onslaught. Their efforts might have led to a victory if not for one critical problem—the demons they killed kept resurrecting and rejoining the fight. Their accomplices worked tirelessly to ensure their overlords' plan continued unabated.

Circling the area to survey the battlefield, I identified a weak point in the wizards' defenses—the spot where the demons were most likely to break through and wreak havoc. Landing at this vulnerable position, I braced myself as several demons launched a coordinated attack. My grayish-blue shield materialized, absorbing the concentrated burst of magic.

For a brief moment, silence enveloped the battlefield. The more seasoned duelists and battle-hardened wizards recognized the sheer power of the attack I had endured without faltering. It was no small feat.

Perhaps it was time to stop sparing the demons' accomplices. They had chosen their side in this war. If someone aligns themselves with an enemy who seeks your destruction, they become your enemy as well. Logically, both must be eliminated to prevent future threats. Yet, I continued to spare the accomplices, leaving them for the wizards to handle. What they chose to do with them was no longer my concern.

Before the demons or the wizards fully realized the shift in the battle's dynamics, I acted. With a wave of my wand, I unleashed a complex spell. Serpentine tendrils erupted from the ground, lashing out at the demons. Upon contact, they burned flesh and delivered a deadly poison that coursed through their bodies. A single moment of exposure was lethal.

In mere seconds, I dispatched several dozen demons, absorbing their souls effortlessly. Amplifying the spell's energy flow, I forced the tendrils to expand their reach and quicken their movements. The stream of demonic souls pouring into me grew, enhancing my power further.

Of course, the spell's potency wasn't infinite. As it faded, I cast a mass sleep spell over the area, rendering the demon accomplices unconscious. Without pausing, I took to the skies, swiftly descending upon another sector to employ the same strategy—tendrils to annihilate the demons, followed by a sleep spell to incapacitate their accomplices.

After repeating this tactic again, I achieved an unintended result: the demons began fleeing, abandoning their accomplices to the mercy of the wizards. A few Aurors attempted to speak to me, but I waved them off and gave chase, intent on pursuing the retreating demons.

They didn't get far. Blocking their path, I incinerated them along with the ground they stood on. It was far simpler than using advanced spells to eliminate them individually.

From that point forward, destroying demons became routine. Locate a group of demons—it didn't matter whether they were attacking wizards or not—eliminate them, and move on to the next group.

As I walked through the stadium and the surrounding tents, I witnessed grim scenes of destruction and death. The number of wizard corpses was staggering; no one had anticipated an attack of this scale. The highest death toll was in the stands, where demons and their accomplices had mingled among ordinary spectators. When the slaughter began, blood flowed in streams, pooling into small basins and large puddles.

Eventually, I no longer needed to seek out demons—they began seeking me out, accompanied by their accomplices.

I allowed them to surround me, forming a mob of demonic creatures. Their fury was palpable; they had realized a critical truth: I could destroy them in a way that prevented resurrection. Were I in their place, I too would do everything possible to eliminate such a threat.

The demons were grotesque beings. It was impossible to look at them without revulsion. Their grotesque faces bore strange growths, filthy fangs and claws, misshapen and unevenly developed bodies, and countless other repulsive features. Frankly, it baffled me how they had managed to infiltrate the stadium unnoticed—and in such overwhelming numbers.

Their accomplices were no less unsettling. Among them were men and women of various ethnicities—Africans, Arabs, Caucasians—all mingling into a chaotic and unpleasant picture. If the demons had managed to expand their influence this quickly, the magical world was in grave danger.

"Mortal," a female voice called out. From the crowd of demons stepped a demoness who stood apart from the rest due to her humanoid appearance. Her features betrayed her inhuman nature, but her form was distinctly human-like. "We recognize your abilities."

"Thank you," I nodded, feigning patience as I waited for her to continue. At the same time, I sensed the other demons preparing several powerful attacks against me. The fluctuations of magical energy and their emotional intent made their plans unmistakable.

"That's why we want to offer you a place in the new world," she said smoothly. "You are a strong wizard and would undoubtedly hold a leadership position among the demon accomplices."

"Oh, really," I drawled, allowing a hint of intrigue to color my tone. "What else?"

"You will stand above all laws," she continued, her voice silky and enticing. "You will have access to everything—power, women, secret knowledge, and… immortality."

"Anything else?" I pressed, maintaining the pretense of interest.

"You only need to ask," the demoness said confidently.

"You know, I think I'll pass."

Before she could react, a powerful magical attack erupted from my wand. This time, I made no effort to spare the accomplices. Holding back was no longer an option.

A vortex of fire began expanding outward, consuming everything in its path. While it might have appeared uncontrollable, every movement was deliberate. Controlling a vortex of this magnitude was no small feat, but I could shape its every twist and turn to my will.

Demonic souls, along with those of their accomplices, were absorbed into me, augmenting my already immense power. As the saying goes, there's no such thing as too much strength. The fire burned so fiercely that the air shimmered, as though reality itself was distorting under the heat. When the time came, I dispelled the spell. On the scorched earth lay the charred remains of the demoness, her body slowly beginning to regenerate.

With a wave of my wand, I cooled the surrounding area back to normal and approached her struggling form.

"You see, I don't need your offerings," I said, my voice calm but firm. "I'm already a step above you. The only reason I haven't killed you outright is because I need to locate the barrier artifact—and I will get that information from you right now."

"No, please…" the demoness rasped weakly.

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly. "And what are you offering? I need the location of the artifact, and I need to find the remaining demons. You've proven you're incapable of coexisting on this planet."

"I… khh… will give you information about the artifact," the demoness croaked, her voice gaining strength as her body slowly regenerated. "And… about the other demons?"

"I'll give that, too," she coughed, desperation lacing her words. "Just please… don't kill me."

"Don't kill you?" I repeated, feigning surprise. "If I let you go, you'll simply return to your schemes. That would be a mistake. It's far simpler for me to extract the information from your mind and cleanse you with fire afterward."

"Please," she pleaded, her voice steadying with each word. "I will serve you."

"Serve me?" I asked, intrigued by her desperation. "Why would I need a servant like you?"

"A slave," she corrected, her voice trembling. "I will become your slave. I don't want to die!"

Her mind was racing now, desperate to grasp any thread that might save her life. I could feel her growing suspicion as she pieced together the truth—that I wasn't just killing her kind but absorbing their very souls.

"Maybe death would be better," I mused aloud, my tone thoughtful. "A kindness to free you from the burdens of this world."

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "My lord, do not kill me."

What to do? Such a complicated question. I should have killed her outright, absorbed her soul, and sifted through her knowledge. It would have been easier, more straightforward. But no—I wanted the information quickly.

"Fine," I said with a nod. "But remember, you're entirely under my control now."

"I understand, my lord," the demoness replied, her voice steady. She had regenerated enough to kneel before me, her abilities truly remarkable.

The spell I cast on her was a slavery collar—a forbidden magic wizards had tried to eradicate for centuries. This knowledge had been destroyed, along with those who possessed it, because no one wanted to risk such a power falling into the wrong hands. I had learned the spell from Agent Zero, the former head of the Unspeakables, who unearthed the lore only to obliterate it afterward. The only other wizard known to have studied a fragment of this knowledge was Tom Riddle, who later became the Dark Lord. He refined the concept, creating his own twisted version of the collar to brand his followers.

The bond the spell forged between us was absolute enslavement. I won't deny it—it's unsettling to know another being's mind and life are completely under your control. With a single thought, I could reshape her mind, extinguish her life, or force her to do anything I desired.

Could this demoness truly accept that? I wouldn't have been able to.

Since the spell was a standard version, it didn't require any physical signs or markings to function properly. No one would suspect a thing. As I scanned her mind, I unearthed the information I needed: the location of the barrier artifact, how to access it, and the whereabouts of any remaining demons.

On the second matter, I could confirm that no other demons were left in the vicinity. Every demon involved in the attack, along with a contingent of their accomplices, had already gathered to face me. That problem had been resolved.

"What's your name?" I asked the demoness.

"Astonmartina," she replied.

"Your name is now Maria," I declared firmly.

"Of course, my lord. I thank you for my new name," she said, bowing her head.

"Now, let's head for the artifact."

According to Maria's memories, the artifact was hidden near the center of the area to maximize its range and ensure no one could escape the event. As we walked, I continued delving into the demoness's mind, curious about the reasoning behind their attack.

It turned out the demons—those who could be considered "officers" under the witch and the demon commander—had decided to unite in an effort to claim territory for themselves. During their gathering, they concluded that the British Isles were the ideal location. Knowing the region was home to powerful wizards, they sought to deliver a catastrophic blow to the magical community to secure their foothold.

The Quidditch World Cup presented a perfect opportunity—a test run for a larger-scale assault. Confident in their perceived immortality, they dispatched a strong contingent for the attack. Many of the demons ranked in the middle tier of their hordes, making them formidable but not insurmountable.

However, luck was not on their side. My presence at the event, combined with my ability to kill them permanently, proved to be their undoing. One unexpected factor unraveled their entire plan. While they inflicted considerable damage on the magical world, particularly in England, they failed to achieve their ultimate goal. Their plan had been to massacre every wizard at the event, including their accomplices. Demons despise traitors, and the accomplices would have been executed last, just before the barrier was lifted.

When we reached the artifact, I found it buried beneath a small pole adorned with the flags of Bulgaria and Ireland. On my command, Maria dispelled the protective charms surrounding it. Moments later, the artifact was revealed—a cube inscribed with runes. From Maria's memories, I recognized the symbols and easily read their meaning.

"Before I deactivate it," I said, addressing the demoness, "I don't want the other wizards to think we're working together. So, you have two options: hide or let me transfigure you into an object."

"As you wish, my lord," the demoness replied obediently.

Nodding, I waved my wand and transformed her into a small hairpin. The transfiguration would hold for several hours before wearing off. Tucking the pin into my pocket, I turned my attention to the artifact and began the process of deactivating it. There were two approaches I could take.

The first method was to destroy the artifact outright. This would release all its stored magical energy, causing the barrier to collapse and rendering the artifact irreparable and unusable in the future.

The second method was to deactivate the artifact without damaging it. Though this process required more time and precision, the barrier would dissipate while leaving the artifact intact and functional. I could even restore its original purpose as a siege shield. Such a tool would be invaluable for safeguarding my home.

The second option was exactly what I needed.

I began by tracing my wand over the runes, carefully examining them. Beyond identifying the artifact's magical properties, I needed to uncover any modifications or potential traps the demoness might not have known about. Hidden defenses or curses were always a possibility in such artifacts.

After multiple checks, I confirmed there was nothing unusual beneath the surface. The artifact's magic was fairly standard, aside from the inversion effect, which wasn't particularly troublesome.

Focusing my energy, I channeled magic into a precise location on the artifact. This initiated the first step of the deactivation sequence. The second step required equal precision, as it would determine whether the artifact could be reused—and I had every intention of doing so.

Five minutes later, I successfully deactivated the artifact. The barrier surrounding the area began to thin, its shimmering edges dissolving into the atmosphere. A soft breeze swept through, bringing fresh air and an entirely new sensation of magical energy.

Within a minute, the barrier collapsed. Almost immediately, dozens of wizards on brooms swooped into the area like vultures circling prey. Ignoring their arrival, I focused on the artifact. I shielded it from emitting any magical signals, screened it from detection spells, and then shrank and transfigured it into a small mechanical clock for easy transport.

As I worked, more wizards arrived, attempting to cordon off the area. Two Aurors flew overhead, spotting me. They made a sharp turn and landed nearby, their wands at the ready.

"Identify yourself!" one of them commanded sharply.

"Timothy Jodie," I replied calmly. "Headmaster of Beauxbatons and Master of Transfiguration and Charms."

To reinforce my claim, I revealed my rings of office. The senior Auror scrutinized me, casting several detection spells to confirm I wasn't using any masking magic.

"All right," the Auror said with a nod of acknowledgment. "Do you need any assistance?"

"Thank you," I replied with a slight shake of my head. "I'm fine. As for the others… it's hard to say."

"Yeah," one of them muttered with a sigh. "Well, I recommend joining one of the wizard groups."

I nodded in response and watched as they mounted their brooms and took off into the sky. Once they were gone, I turned on my heel and made my way back to the Veela, my students, and the Malfoys. Around the fortress I had constructed, several Aurors were gathered, trying to determine how to break through the defenses.

"Gentlemen," I called out, catching their attention.

"Who are you?" asked a younger Auror, stepping forward with his wand gripped tightly.

"Mr. Timothy Jodie," a slightly older wizard exclaimed, his eyes widening with recognition. "Is that really you?"

"Yes," I confirmed, holding up my rings as proof. "I recommend stepping back from this defensive structure. I'm the one who created it."

"Understood," he replied, motioning for the others to retreat.

The Aurors stepped back as I began dismantling the defenses. A minute later, a group of wizards emerged from inside. They looked shaken, their wands raised as if ready for another fight. But there was no need. As soon as they saw me—and then the Aurors—they relaxed.

"Is it over?" Fleur asked softly after I embraced her and Hermione.

"Yes, it's all over," I reassured her, my voice steady.

"I'm so glad," Hermione said, nodding, relief evident in her expression. "I just want to go home. I'm tired of all this."

***

Harry Potter moved alongside the Weasleys, dashing from one rise to another, from one tent to the next. At the start of the summer, he had been thrilled by the prospect of an amazing holiday, but now he found himself wishing he were back with his aunt, uncle, and insufferable cousin. At least there, no monsters were trying to kill him.

Staying with the Weasleys had been a source of immense joy for Harry. Exploring fascinating magical objects and artifacts, and witnessing how wizards lived their daily lives, was endlessly intriguing. Even watching the Weasleys manage their garden had been fun. Not even the incident where he fell into something resembling a pit of dung had dampened his spirits. When he learned that Mr. Weasley had acquired tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and that he was invited to come along, his excitement soared.

Upon arriving at the stadium, Harry was awestruck. He had never seen so many wizards gathered in one place. Even the bustling crowds of Diagon Alley couldn't compare. And these weren't just local witches and wizards—there were people from all over the world!

The evening passed pleasantly. Along with Ron, he reunited with several school friends, including Dean, Neville, and a few girls. They spent their time chatting and exploring the vibrant atmosphere. But the night brought unsettling dreams. Harry saw visions of snakes, glowing red eyes, and a green flash, leaving him uneasy when he awoke.

By the time the game was about to begin, Harry had managed to shake off most of his discomfort and was ready to enjoy the warm day. He even encountered a few foreign wizards who were eager to meet the famous Boy Who Lived.

As the group headed toward the entrance, they passed through security checks and then endured twenty minutes of climbing endless stairs to reach the top of the stadium. Harry silently cursed the lack of a wizarding elevator.

When they finally reached their assigned box, Harry immediately noticed Draco Malfoy with his parents. Sitting near them were Hermione and two unfamiliar faces—a man who looked vaguely familiar and a young woman of stunning, icy beauty.

It was only later that Harry placed the man—Timothy Jodie, a former Gryffindor who had been in his seventh year when Harry was a first-year. Jodie was widely regarded as a genius, someone who had risen to become the headmaster of a prestigious French magical school at an astonishingly young age.

The match itself was thrilling, though Harry found it harder to enjoy with the Malfoys in such close proximity. He tried to ignore them, but Draco's burning glares kept drawing his attention. Every time Harry attempted to meet Draco's eyes, Malfoy would look away, which only irritated him further.

Then the unthinkable happened. An attack on their box. The death of Ministers of Magic. Chaos erupted around them. Harry barely had time to process what was happening before a protective spell cast by Jodie surrounded him. A magical attack had been aimed directly at their group.

Frozen with shock, Harry struggled to figure out what to do. For the moment, all he could do was wait and hope.

He missed much of the conversation between Jodie and the older wizards, his mind preoccupied with the gruesome sight of torn bodies surrounding them. The horror of the scene was overwhelming, but Harry tried to focus on anything else. Even Draco, who looked pale and shaken, offered a small, bitter comfort—at least Harry wasn't the only one struggling to keep it together.

Timothy Jodie eventually left, heading downward, while tensions in the box flared into open conflict.

"This is all because of your Death Eater scum!" Arthur Weasley snapped, his voice trembling with fury, as he suddenly attacked Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy reacted swiftly, deflecting the spell with practiced ease. The other Weasleys immediately drew their wands, ready to back their father. Harry, too, pulled out his wand, though he hesitated to use it. Still, the thought of rearranging Draco's smug face was tempting.

"Weasley, have you lost your mind?!" Draco shouted, stepping behind his father for cover.

"I'm sure you know what's happening here, Malfoy," Arthur growled, launching another spell. Lucius deflected it again, sending the shimmering beam harmlessly into the night sky. He retaliated with a sharp counterattack, but Arthur blocked it with equal skill. "Don't worry—I'll get the truth out of you yet!"

"Khu-khu-khu!" A deranged laugh cut through the tension, drawing all eyes to a wild-eyed man emerging from beneath a tattered cloak. He viciously kicked a house-elf aside, snatching its wand with a sneer. "Get lost."

"Barty…" Malfoy drawled, his tone betraying recognition as his pale eyes narrowed at the intruder.

"Khu-khu-khu!" Barty laughed again, his voice thick with madness. "Just like old times, eh? But… no. I'll kill you Weasleys for your filthy love of Muggles, and you Malfoys for betraying the Dark Lord. And when he returns, I'll dance on your graves!"

Without warning, he attacked. His first spell was aimed at Lucius, who barely managed to dodge. Arthur seized the opportunity to strike at his long-time adversary, but Barty deflected the spell effortlessly.

Spells flew in every direction, lighting up the box in bursts of violent energy, but neither side gained the upper hand. Chaos reigned until Timothy Jodie reappeared, his wand moving faster than the eye could follow. With a single precise incantation, he ended the conflict decisively. Barty Crouch Jr. fell to the ground, lifeless, the deranged gleam in his eyes extinguished.

It was quick. It was efficient.

Next, they witnessed a display of truly powerful magic. Their entire level of the stadium was lowered to the ground, creating a massive corridor through the destroyed stands. The sheer scale of the spell was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Even Harry's heart raced at the overwhelming display of power.

When Mr. Weasley decided to split off from the group, Harry felt a creeping sense of unease. Separating from the others hadn't made their situation safer—it had only heightened the danger.

"Hide," Arthur whispered sharply.

Finding a hiding spot was relatively easy amidst the abundance of debris. Harry crouched in a pile of ash, freezing in place and barely daring to breathe. The last thing he wanted was for the monsters or their accomplices to discover him. Thankfully, the accomplices didn't seem inclined to rummage through the ruins.

Remaining in one spot for too long wasn't an option, so when Arthur signaled, they moved on cautiously. No one spoke; the situation allowed no room for conversation. The grim sight of torn bodies, charred corpses, and lifeless figures drained the group of any remnants of joy or hope.

"Quiet," Arthur whispered again, his tone urgent.

As they approached a nearby tent, the group froze at the sound of muffled screams. Peering inside, they saw two demon accomplices torturing a teenager. The cries and desperate pleas, spoken in an unfamiliar language, sent shivers racing down Harry's spine. He tried to block out the horrifying sounds, but they burrowed into his mind, refusing to leave. The sight of the brutality left Ron and the twins deathly pale. Even Harry, despite everything he had seen, felt his stomach churn.

Arthur, however, appeared cold and composed, though the strain in his expression betrayed his growing fury.

Finally, even Arthur Weasley reached his breaking point. With a sharp motion, he cast a spell at the first accomplice, striking them down instantly. Before the second could react, another spell hit its mark, and they, too, crumpled to the ground like a lifeless sack of meat.

The third accomplice deflected Arthur's spell with a sharp motion and immediately countered with a bolt of red lightning. Arthur dodged, and the spell struck the ground, scorching the earth and sending a wave of heat through the air. It became clear that this fight would not be easily won.

Arthur flicked his wand, conjuring a stream of fire aimed at the accomplice. But the demon's servant deftly redirected the flames toward the boy, who had just begun to recover from his torture. The blow was devastating, and the boy's death was painful, gruesome, and prolonged. The sight left Harry frozen in horror.

At one point, the accomplice lunged forward, tackling Arthur to the ground. The twins reacted instantly, yelling in unison:

"Reducto!"

The force of their spells didn't just throw the accomplice off their father—it tore him into dozens of pieces. The second spell followed immediately, shredding what remained of the scattered fragments.

Arthur coughed as he wiped blood from his face.

"Kha… thank you, Fred, George," he said, his voice strained. "Let's keep moving. Don't think about it."

The group pressed onward, but the tension had only grown thicker. Harry now gripped his wand tightly, his knuckles white with the effort. He was ready for any complication.

Complications came quickly. Out of nowhere, they stumbled upon two small demons, hunched over and mindlessly tearing apart the body of a wizard.

The demons froze, their grotesque faces fixed on the Weasleys. For a moment, an eerie silence descended, broken only when one of the demons began noisily chomping on flesh, blood dripping from its maw. The sight was nauseating, a grotesque reminder of the horror surrounding them.

"Maybe we can part peacefully?" Arthur asked quietly, his voice strained but calm.

"Krrhhya!" The monsters barked like rabid dogs, their bodies tensing.

In the next instant, both demons lunged forward.

"Get out of here!" Arthur shouted, his voice rising above the chaos.

"We're not leaving without you, Dad!" Fred yelled back, defiance in his tone.

"Go now!" Arthur roared furiously, firing spells at the demons. His attacks were precise, but the creatures dodged with unsettling agility, their movements almost too fast to follow.

Harry didn't need to be told twice. As soon as Mr. Weasley shouted, he bolted, his instincts taking over. Years of dodging Dudley and his gang had trained him well in the art of running away.

Glancing back briefly, he saw the unthinkable. One demon sank its teeth into Fred's throat, blood spurting as Fred's body jerked violently. The other grabbed Arthur's arm, wrenching him down. In those few seconds, Harry's stomach dropped, and a strange, icy chill settled in his chest, refusing to leave.

"Harry, what do we do?" Ron cried, his voice cracking with panic.

Harry hesitated. His mind was a whirlwind of fear and indecision, unable to fully process what he had just seen. His instincts screamed at him to keep moving, but something deep inside demanded he act.

As they ran, Harry snatched a rock from the ground, an idea forming in his mind, half-baked but desperate.

"Krrhhya!" The demonic growls grew louder, closing the distance between them.

Harry pushed all thoughts aside, gritted his teeth, and slammed the rock as hard as he could into Ron's forehead. The red-haired boy didn't even have time to react. He crumpled to the ground, blood streaming from a gash on his head. A dazed and confused look spread across Ron's face as he scanned his surroundings. Clutching his head, he struggled to stand, his gaze locking onto Harry.

Anger and betrayal flickered in Ron's eyes, the confusion giving way to raw emotion. Harry tossed the rock aside and ran, knowing he wouldn't get far unless he found a place to hide.

Spotting a pile of corpses nearby, Harry made his decision. Shoving the bodies aside, he burrowed into the mound, closing his eyes to block out the horror of what he was doing. Blood and other fluids seeped through his clothes, and the stench was overwhelming, but Harry forced himself to endure it. His only goal was survival. Striking Ron had been a cold, calculated act—a desperate move to distract the demons and buy himself precious time.

Peering through a gap in the corpses, Harry watched as Ron struggled to rise. The blow had been strong; Ron's legs wobbled beneath him like those of a puppet with its strings cut.

The two demons appeared moments later, their grotesque forms chattering excitedly as they circled Ron. Every feeble movement he made seemed to amuse them, their guttural laughter echoing in the eerie silence.

Then, without warning, the demons froze. Their heads snapped in the same direction, their postures tense, as if alerted to something unseen. Without hesitation, they darted off, leaving Ron alone on the blood-soaked ground, still struggling to stand.

After several attempts, Ron finally managed to get to his feet, wobbling unsteadily. From his hiding spot, Harry noticed the barrier beginning to dissolve. There was only one explanation for this: Timothy had defeated the demons.

This was a problem. Harry's mind raced. He knew there would be questions—questions he wasn't ready to answer. Why had he chosen to sacrifice Ron to save himself? Why had he struck his friend? The truth would condemn him. He needed a solution, and it came quickly, almost instinctively.

Emerging from the mound of corpses, Harry drew his wand.

Ron spotted him immediately, raising his own wand shakily. His hand trembled, and his stance was unsteady, but his anger was evident.

"Harry… why…" Ron managed to croak, each word strained and labored, as though even speaking drained him.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry replied, his voice steady but hollow. "It was either you or me."

"Haa…" Ron exhaled shakily, lifting his wand with trembling hands.

"Tarantellegra!" Harry shouted, his wand pointed directly at Ron.

"Crucio!" Ron yelled back, his spell clumsy and awkward but no less effective.

Harry's spell struck Ron first, forcing him into a wild, uncontrollable dance as his legs moved erratically. Ron's spell, however, found its mark, and Harry was instantly overwhelmed by an all-encompassing agony. His mouth filled with blood, strange noises rang in his ears, and his heart felt as if it might burst from his chest. But all of that paled in comparison to the searing pain that erupted in his scar, like fire burning through his skull.

Just as suddenly, warmth washed over Harry, driving away the pain and filling him with an almost euphoric sense of power and clarity. Rising to his feet, invigorated, he moved toward Ron, his mind consumed by a singular purpose. He didn't even think to use his wand.

Harry lunged at Ron, tackling him to the ground. His fists connected with Ron's face again and again, each blow landing with brutal precision. Blood sprayed from Ron's shattered nose and split lips, but Harry didn't stop. His rage fueled him, and with every strike, Ron's features became less recognizable.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted a large rock nearby. He stood, grabbed it—it was heavier than expected—and returned to Ron's crumpled form. For a brief moment, he hesitated, looking into Ron's eyes. They were wide with fear, silently pleading for mercy. But Harry didn't see the fear or hear the plea; he was beyond such things now. He was even feeling some weird arousal.

Raising the rock high above his head, Harry brought it crashing down onto Ron's skull. The dull thud of impact was followed by the sickening sound of cracking bone. Without pause, Harry lifted the rock again and brought it down once more, and again, and again. Each strike was final, leaving no doubt.

When he was done, Harry shoved the bloodied rock aside and examined the remains. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed Ron's lifeless, mangled body and flipped it over, ensuring it looked like a demon had savagely stomped him to death. It wasn't about covering up his guilt; it was about survival. No one could know.

"Haa… haa…" Harry exhaled, his breath coming in short gasps as he began to regain his composure. His hands trembled, coated with blood that was already drying.

He stood slowly, his legs unsteady, and walked a little further away from the scene. He needed to put distance between himself and the evidence. Now, all he had to do was wait for help to arrive.