The late morning sun streamed through the crooked windows of the Burrow's kitchen, casting long golden rays across the worn wooden table. Outside, gnomes scurried through the overgrown garden, occasionally letting out high-pitched curses as they tumbled over each other. The usual chaos of the Weasley household had resumed after last night's turmoil, but an undercurrent of tension remained, like a low hum beneath the surface.
Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, her wand flicking with practiced precision as she directed a parade of pots and pans. Eggs cracked themselves into a large bowl while bread sliced and toasted in midair. The comforting aroma of frying bacon and fresh tea filled the air. It seemed the woman was hellbent on forgetting the essence of destruction that had clung to them all just hours ago.
"Breakfast!" she called up the stairs, her voice carrying through the rickety house. "Everyone down now before it gets cold!"
Footsteps thundered down the stairs as the house's occupants descended like a small avalanche. Fred and George tumbled in first, shoving each other through the doorway, followed by Ron and Charlie deep in conversation about a Quidditch match. Percy strode in with an air of importance, a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in his hand. Bill sauntered in last, his fang earring catching the light.
Harry and Ginny entered together, their shoulders brushing as they made their way to the table. Hermione followed a moment later, her eyes darting to the pair before quickly looking away. She took a seat beside Ron, putting as much distance between herself and Ginny as the crowded table would allow.
"Good morning, dears," Mrs. Weasley said, pressing a quick kiss to Harry's forehead as he sat down. "Sleep well?"
"Like the dead," Fred answered, grabbing a piece of toast.
"Speaking of which," George added, "heard anything more about those Death Eaters, Dad?"
Mr. Weasley looked up from his tea, his expression grim. "Nothing official yet. The Ministry's keeping things quiet until they sort through everything."
Percy cleared his throat importantly, smoothing the newspaper on the table. "Well, the Prophet's not being so tight-lipped. They're calling it 'Death Eater Infighting' on the front page."
"Let me see that," Charlie said, leaning closer to his brother to read the article.
The front page featured a large, moving photograph of a dark skull hovering above a field, the snake-tongue slithering out as it rotated slowly. The headline blared: "WORLD CUP TERROR: DEATH EATERS TURN ON EACH OTHER."
"Blimey," Ron breathed, leaning forward to get a better look. "They're actually reporting it?"
"What did you expect?" Bill asked, buttering his toast. "It's Skeeter. The woman's got this uncanny power to sniff out news, no matter how confidential. Not surprising she caught wind of this and managed to get it published. Also, can't exactly cover up a dozen masked nutters blasting each other to bits. It was bound to be out soon."
Mrs. Weasley winced, sending a sharp look at Bill. "Language at the table, please."
"Sorry, Mum," Bill said, not looking particularly apologetic.
Percy adjusted his glasses, scanning the article. "It says here that Lucius Malfoy was among the casualties."
A heavy silence fell over the table. Harry and Ginny exchanged a quick glance, their lips quirking a bit. That had been one of the best developments in the aftermath of the World Cup final.
"Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly higher than usual. "Are they sure?"
"According to this, they found him this morning," Percy read, his tone clinical. "Body was returned to the family for burial."
"Draco must be devastated," Hermione murmured, her brow furrowed.
"Who cares?" Ron snorted, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "Rotten git deserved it, if you ask me."
"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, swatting his shoulder. "That's a terrible thing to say!"
"What?" Ron protested, his mouth still full. "He was a Death Eater, Mum! He would've happily killed all of us!"
"Be that as it may," Mr. Weasley said firmly, "celebrating anyone's death isn't something we do in this family."
Harry leaned back in his chair, his expression neutral but his eyes alert, taking in the conversation with quiet interest. Ginny, beside him, reached for the juice, her sleeve riding up just enough to reveal a faint bruise on her wrist. Hermione's eyes widened slightly as she caught the mark, instantly recognizing it for what it was. A small flush crept up her neck and she darted her gaze away quickly.
"How'd it happen?" Fred asked, his usual mischievous tone temporarily subdued.
Percy skimmed the article again. "Doesn't say specifically. Just that he was 'killed in an altercation with fellow Death Eaters.' Apparently, there was some kind of disagreement among them."
"About Voldemort," Harry said casually, ignoring the sharp gasps from a few people around the table as he took a sip of his tea. "Like we told you last night, Mr. Weasley."
All eyes turned to Harry who merely raised an eyebrow as he looked around.
"You really heard them arguing about that?" Bill asked, leaning forward intently. "About whether he's back?"
Harry nodded, his posture relaxed despite the seriousness of the subject. "Clear as day. Some were saying he's alive and giving orders. Others didn't believe it."
"And they started killing each other over it," Ginny added, her voice steady. "We saw at least three go down before we ran."
Hermione stared at her plate, her food untouched. "It's horrible," she whispered, almost to herself. "The killing, I mean."
"Better them than us," Ginny replied, her tone light but her eyes hard. "Death Eaters aren't exactly known for their mercy."
"No, they're not," Harry agreed, something dark flickering across his face before it disappeared, as if it'd never been there. "Seems like they're even worse to each other."
"It's nonsense anyway," Percy said dismissively. "You-Know-Who is dead. Has been for years. These are just desperate fanatics grasping at straws."
Harry shrugged, but his eyes didn't match his casual demeanor. He exchanged a glance with Ron and Hermione whose lips pursed.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"Either way," Mr. Weasley interjected, "the Ministry's in an uproar. Barty Crouch wants to talk to you both today, Harry, Ginny. About what you saw."
"Why today?" Mrs. Weasley protested, her hands on her hips. "They've barely had time to recover!"
"It's fine, Mrs. Weasley," Harry assured her, his voice calm and confident. "Better to get it over with."
"I'll go with them," Hermione suddenly offered, her eyes darting between Harry and Ginny meaningfully.
The meaning dawned on Ginny in an instant and her lips curled into a small, knowing smirk. "Worried about us, Hermione?"
Hermione flushed, ducking her head. "I just thought—well, I might be able to help with the statements. Make sure everything's properly documented."
"Always the scholar," Ron teased, oblivious to the tension. "They just need to tell what they saw, Hermione, not write an essay."
"Actually," Mr. Weasley said apologetically, "Crouch was very specific. Only Harry and Ginny, since they were the ones who witnessed it firsthand."
Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly. "Oh. Of course."
"Don't worry," Ginny said, her voice honey-sweet as she reached across the table to touch Hermione's hand briefly. "We'll tell you everything when we get back. Every... little... detail."
Hermione jerked her hand away, her cheeks coloring. "I—yes, that would be—thank you."
Harry watched the exchange with a glint of amusement in his eyes, but his face remained impassive. He turned to Arthur and asked, "What time do we need to be at the Ministry?"
"After lunch should be fine," Mr. Weasley replied, checking his watch. "Crouch said he'd meet us in his office around three."
"Perfect," Harry nodded, helping himself to more eggs. "Plenty of time."
The conversation shifted to lighter topics as breakfast continued. Charlie regaled them with stories of Romanian dragons, while Fred and George whispered conspiratorially at the end of the table. Percy occasionally interjected with Ministry regulations related to Charlie's tales, earning eye rolls from his siblings.
Through it all, something else was going on beneath the normal family chaos. Harry was eating calmly, his movements relaxed, with Ginny sitting beside him, looking utterly relaxed. She leaned close to him occasionally, whispering something that made his lips twitch in a near-smile. Hermione watched them from the corner of her eye, her hands fidgeting with her napkin, and it was when her eyes darted down slightly that she noticed it. A furious blush overtook her features as she realized what was going on under the table, her eyes transfixed on Ginny's hand as it moved subtly.
She looked around in alarm, but everyone else was either occupied with chatting or the food to pay any attention to the pair. Her eyes darted back to Ginny's hand and as she looked up, her breath hitched. Ginny stared her directly in the eyes before a wicked grin emerged on her face.
"I know you want it," she mouthed, winking.
One by one, everyone started to get up and leave but the two kept at it, somehow managing without anyone being the wiser.
She couldn't believe they were doing it right there at the table when everyone was present, but then she recalled how they hadn't cared the slightest bit when they'd fucked in that tent with Ron sleeping right next to them. The memory evoked her own forbidden desires and Hermione furiously quashed those thoughts, pointedly finishing her meal. However, try as she might, she couldn't help but let her gaze return to them, watching discreetly.
Hermione was not as discreet as she believed herself to be. Ginny had a smirk on her face as she kept jerking Harry off, all the while eyeing Hermione out of the corner of her eye. She knew how risky this was, but the thrill of doing it like this was much greater than fear of being caught.
Once everyone apart from them three had left, Mrs. Weasley began clearing the plates with a wave of her wand. She levitated them with her to the kitchen, and the moment she was gone, Ginny made her move.
Hermione's eyes bugged out as Ginny dropped to her knees with a muffled thump, crawling under the table like she owned the place. Her eyes sparkled with that wild, don't-give-a-damn glint, catching Hermione's shocked stare.
Harry's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to Hermione for a split second before they closed, a barely audible groan escaping his lips as he gripped his fork tightly.
Hermione's breath hitched, her fingers strangling her napkin like it owed her money. She couldn't look away, even though her brain was yelling at her to bolt. She watched as Ginny's head dipped, her lips undoubtedly wrapping around Harry's cock with zero hesitation, sucking him off right there under the table. The wet, sloppy sounds were faint but hit Hermione like a freight train, making her face go redder than it already was. Her thighs clenched hard, and she bit her lip till it stung, trying to squash the heat pooling low in her gut. She was pissed at herself, but damn, part of her was hooked—on the thrill, on the wrongness of it all.
Ginny was in her element, her tongue swirling and her lips sliding up and down Harry's length. She felt like she was born for this, and maybe she was. Her hands gripped his thighs, her nails digging in just enough to make him squirm. She'd glance up now and then, locking eyes with Hermione, daring her to say something. That smug little smirk never left her face, even as she took him deeper, her throat working him like it was nothing. She loved this—loved screwing with Hermione's head, loved the rush of almost getting caught.
Harry was loving it, his breaths coming fast and shaky. Ginny was even more daring than he'd expected, and he wouldn't have it any other way. His free hand twitched like he wanted to grab Ginny's hair and started fucking her mouth in earnest, but he allowed her to take charge this time.
He shot a look at Hermione, and holy shit, the raw heat in his eyes nearly knocked her over. She jerked her gaze away, her heart hammering, and once again, her mind flashed back to that damn tent—Harry and Ginny going at it like animals while Ron snored nearby. It was messed up how much it turned her on, how much she wanted to know what that kind of reckless felt like. She would never accept it, but damn she couldn't help how she felt about it.
Ginny picked up the pace, her head bobbing faster, one hand pumping the base of Harry's cock while her mouth worked the rest. She let out a low hum, and Harry choked back a groan, trying to play it off with a fake cough. Hermione's eyes went saucer-wide—she knew he was close. She should've bolted, should've gotten the hell out of there, but her ass was glued to the chair, her gaze stuck on the way Ginny's lips stretched, the faint bulge in her cheek as she went all in.
Harry's hips bucked slightly, and his hand slammed the table, making the plates and cutlery rattle. Hermione flinched, her own gasp stuck in her throat as she watched him grit his teeth, his face twisted in a look that screamed he was close.
Ginny didn't miss a beat, sucking harder, her tongue flicking over the tip as Harry spilled into her mouth. She swallowed every drop, milking him dry until he slumped back, his chest heaving, looking like he'd just run a marathon.
The room went quiet, the only sound being the distant clink of dishes from the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley remained none the wiser. Ginny popped up from under the table, wiping her lips with a grin and licking her fingers clean.
She plopped back in her chair, resting an elbow on Harry's shoulder. "Like the view, Hermione?" she teased, her voice low and cocky, and her eyes dancing with victory.
Hermione's face resembled a furnace, her brain a total mess of "what the fuck" and "why am I still here?" She glanced at Harry, who was catching his breath, his eyes dark and unreadable. He held her stare a little too long, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted to yell, to call them out, but her voice was gone, drowned in the turmoil of her own dirty thoughts.
Smirking, Ginny stretched beside Harry like a cat. "We should get ready for the Ministry," she said to Harry, standing up. "Mind if I shower first?"
"How about I join you?" he replied with a grin, acting like a typical hormonal teenager in Hermione's eyes. She looked at him disapprovingly, which was funny considering what had happened over the past couple of days. "I can help you reach the hard parts."
"Such a gentleman," Ginny teased, her hand trailing across his shoulder as she moved past him. She caught Hermione's eye as she passed, a smirk on her face. "Maybe next time. It does get tough getting to the hard parts."
Hermione remained transfixed, her breathing ragged as she watched Ginny lick her fingers clean. She didn't need to be told what it was, and her toes curled, her grip on her spoon tightening.
"I'm off, then," Ginny announced, sauntering toward the stairs. "Back in a bit."
Suddenly, Hermione felt the world closing around her as she realized she and Harry were alone at the table now. Her heart thumped in her chest as she stared hard at the table, knowing his eyes were fixed on her.
"Hermione," Harry said simply, and she jerked, her eyes wide. Harry stifled a chuckle at her reaction and leaned forward, "Ginny told me you bought some books this summer? About advanced defensive magic?"
Hermione started, nearly knocking over her juice. "Y—yeah. The defense books. I—they're upstairs. In my trunk."
"Show me," Harry said, standing. It wasn't quite a question, and Hermione understood as much. She was surprised with his commanding tone, but she found herself complying.
"What's kind of books, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, levitating his, Ginny's, and Hermione's plates with her to the sink.
"Advanced defensive magic," Harry explained with a small smile. "Hermione always likes to read ahead. And after what happened at the World Cup, I want to be prepared next time."
"Next time?" Mrs. Weasley echoed, turning from the sink with alarm. "What do you mean, next time?"
Harry's smile was reassuring but somehow didn't reach his eyes. "Just being cautious, Mrs. Weasley. Better safe than sorry, right?"
"Well, I suppose," she said reluctantly. "But don't go looking for trouble, Harry. You've had enough of that to last a lifetime."
"Don't worry," he replied with the same calm confidence that Hermione had observed in him lately. "Trouble usually finds me without me having to look."
Hermione stood shakily, smoothing her jumper. "The books are this way," she murmured, heading for the stairs. Every part of her was screaming to bolt, her pulse pounding, but her body refused to obey any command except the one Harry had seemingly given her. To show him these books.
Harry followed her casually, eyeing her as they walked. The sounds of the shower running filtered through the thin walls of the bathroom as they walked past it. Steam leaked from beneath the bathroom door, carrying the faint scent of Ginny's floral shampoo.
"So," Harry said, his voice soft enough that only Hermione could hear, "these books?"
Hermione glanced at the bathroom door, then back at Harry, her face a mixture of confusion and something more complicated. "They're in Ginny's room," she whispered. "Where I'm staying."
Harry nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way. "After you."
Hermione hesitated, her hand trembling slightly on the banister. "Harry," she started, her voice barely audible. "About—"
"Yes?" he prompted when she didn't continue, his eyes steady on hers.
The bathroom door creaked, the sound of the shower changing pitch as Ginny adjusted the water. Hermione's eyes darted toward the sound, and back to Harry.
"Nothing," she said quickly. "It was nothing. Let's just—the books are this way."
She hurried up the next flight of stairs, Harry following at a more measured pace. The door to Ginny's room stood ajar, and Hermione was assaulted with last night's conversation between them.
Harry paused at the threshold, watching as Hermione nervously rummaged through her trunk. "You know," he said conversationally, suppressing a smirk. "Ginny told me you two had an interesting talk last night."
Hermione froze, her back to him. So he knew everything. That explained his own behavior at the table just minutes ago. "Did she now..."
"Hmm," Harry confirmed, leaning against the doorframe. "Very... illuminating, she said."
Hermione straightened slowly, a couple of heavy tomes clutched to her chest like a shield. "Harry, I—"
"Found what you're looking for?" he asked, his voice mild. He was in no mood to make it easy for her. Teasing and playing with her was a lot more fun than coming entirely clean.
Hermione shifted as she nodded wordlessly, unable to meet his eyes.
"Good," he said, pushing off from the doorframe. "We should head back down."
He turned to go, but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Hermione? When we get back from the Ministry, maybe we can continue our... discussion. The three of us. Only if you want though."
Before she could respond, he was gone, his footsteps fading down the stairs. Hermione stood alone in Ginny's room, the book clutched to her chest, and her heart pounding loud enough to drown out everything else.
Downstairs, Harry found Mr. Weasley sitting at the table and he resumed his seat as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later, Ginny returned, her hair damp and her skin flushed from the hot water. She slid into the chair beside Harry, their shoulders touching.
"All yours," she told him, her voice light.
"Perfect timing," he replied, standing. "We leave in an hour, right, Mr. Weasley?"
Mr. Weasley nodded, folding his newspaper. "That should give us plenty of time to get through security."
"Great," Harry said, his eyes flicking to the stairs where Hermione had just appeared, her face composed but her eyes troubled. "Wouldn't want to miss our appointment."
Hermione watched from the bottom of the stairs, her book still clutched to her chest, as Harry disappeared up the staircase. When she turned, she found Ginny looking directly at her, that same knowing smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
"I hope you had fun?" Ginny asked innocently.
"Yes," Hermione replied, her voice steadier than she felt. "Very... interesting."
"Isn't it so," Ginny agreed, her eyes glittering with insinuation and mirth. "But the practical application is where the real learning happens, don't you think?"
Mrs. Weasley bustled past, oblivious to the subtext. "More tea, anyone?"
"Please," Ginny said sweetly, never taking her eyes off Hermione. "I'm absolutely parched."
XXXXX
The Ministry of Magic's atrium was packed with people. Witches and wizards rushed across the polished dark floor. Everyone seemed tense after what happened at the World Cup.
Harry walked between Arthur and Ginny, looking relaxed but drawing attention anyway. Unlike the worried Ministry workers hurrying past, he moved confidently, taking everything in with alert eyes. Ginny walked beside him, occasionally brushing against his shoulder, keeping her face neutral except for a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.
"Security's tighter than usual," Arthur said quietly as they got to the check-in desk. A line of people waited with wands ready for inspection. "Not surprising, considering what happened."
"Kind of late for that, isn't it?" Ginny said, looking at a nervous security witch checking wands with shaky hands. "Closing the barn door after the horse is gone."
Arthur frowned at her. "It's not that simple, Ginny. The Ministry has rules—"
"Everyone knows what those rules are worth," she shot back, not bothering to lower her voice. Some people looked their way, staring at Harry before quickly looking elsewhere.
Harry didn't say anything, just watched the security check with mild interest. When it was his turn, he handed over his wand without hesitation, his fingers briefly touching the woman's trembling ones.
"Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feather core," the woman said nervously, putting Harry's wand on a brass scale. A small piece of parchment came out from the bottom. "Been in use for two years. Is that right?"
"Three," Harry corrected smoothly, his voice calm, a supportive smile on his face. It was enough to make the woman blush and check the slip again.
"Right, of course. Three years. My mistake." She handed the wand back quickly, almost dropping it in her hurry.
"No worries. I understand, given the situation," Harry replied with a small smile, earning one in return.
After Ginny and Arthur had their wands checked too, they headed to the golden gates leading to the elevators. Harry glanced at the woman over his shoulder, smiling when their eyes met. The woman's eyes widened slightly but she turned around to check other visitors' wands. His smile still in place, Harry turned around.
"Someone you know?" Ginny asked, having not missed the little exchange. All she received was an amused glance.
People moved out of their way as they approached. Harry noticed this, his eyes showing a hint of amusement, but he said nothing.
"Level Two," Arthur said as they squeezed into a crowded elevator. "Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
The elevator jerked backward and started going up. Harry leaned against the wall, looking completely at ease despite the tight space and curious stares. One witch kept glancing at him, then quickly looking away when he caught her eye.
Ginny moved closer to him, the sides of her breast pressing against his arm. "Real subtle, aren't they?" she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.
Harry's lips twitched as he glanced down in amusement. "Always are. And you're not any better."
"Don't know what you're talking about," she murmured, a wicked smile playing on her lips.
The elevator stopped at Level Two, and a cool female voice announced, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."
They stepped out into a hallway lined with doors. This level wasn't fancy like the atrium—just plain walls, flickering torches, and some wanted posters. Ministry workers hurried past carrying files, looking stressed.
Arthur led them past the Auror Headquarters, where they could hear raised voices through the half-open door. Harry caught bits of conversation as they passed—"...never seen spellwork like it..." and "...tore right through them..." and "...complete bloodbath..."
"Crouch's office is down here," Arthur said, leading them away from the noise. "He's head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation now, but he keeps an office on this level for... special cases."
"Like us?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Like the Death Eater situation," Arthur corrected gently. "Crouch ran the DMLE during the war. He knows more about Death Eaters than most people."
They stopped at a plain door with a small brass sign that read "B. Crouch, Special Consultant." Arthur knocked twice, sharp and quick.
"Enter," came a clipped voice from inside.
The office was sparse and extremely organized. Filing cabinets lined one wall, each drawer neatly labeled. A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface clear except for one stack of parchment and a silver quill stand. Behind it sat Bartemius Crouch Sr., sitting stiffly with a perfectly trimmed mustache. His cold, calculating eyes moved from Arthur to Ginny before settling on Harry with intense focus.
"Ah, Weasley. Potter. Miss Weasley." He nodded to each one, not bothering to stand up. "On time. Good. Please sit down."
Three chairs had been placed in front of the desk. Harry took the middle one, relaxing into it with ease. Crouch didn't comment but Harry saw his eyes twitch a bit at his comfortable demeanor. Ginny sat to his right, copying his confident posture while Arthur settled on Harry's left, sitting forward slightly like he was ready to jump in if needed.
"Thanks for coming," Crouch said, sounding formal rather than grateful. "I'll get to the point. What you saw at the World Cup has important security implications."
Harry leaned back, resting one ankle on his opposite knee. Crouch noticed and his eyes twitched once again, to Harry's amusement. "You mean the Death Eaters killing each other?"
Crouch's mustache twitched this time. "Exactly. It's... unprecedented. Death Eaters are known for many things, but fighting each other like this isn't one of them."
"First time for everything," Ginny commented, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Crouch's eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed. Which is why your testimony is crucial. I need you both to tell me, in as much detail as possible, exactly what you saw and heard."
Harry exchanged a quick glance with Ginny. "We were running from the campsite," he began, his voice calm and steady. "Everyone was panicking, heading for the woods. We got separated from the others in the crowd."
"The Death Eaters were burning tents, floating Muggles in the air," Ginny added matter-of-factly. "Basic scare tactics, from what I've heard."
Crouch's eyebrows rose slightly at her casual description. "Continue."
"We went deeper into the woods," Harry said. "Trying to circle back to the campsite from a different direction. That's when we heard them—shouting, cursing. Sounded like they were arguing."
"How many were there?" Crouch asked, suddenly holding his quill over a fresh piece of parchment.
Harry tilted his head slightly, like he was remembering. "Eight, maybe ten. Hard to tell in the dark. They were all wearing masks."
"And they were fighting among themselves?" Crouch pressed, his quill moving quickly across the parchment.
"Not at first," Ginny said, leaning forward slightly. "They were arguing. Yelling about their master."
Crouch's hand stopped, his eyes darting up to meet hers. "What specifically about... him?"
Harry shifted slightly, his fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. "Some of them were saying he's back. Alive. Giving orders again."
A heavy silence fell over the office. Arthur shifted uncomfortably, but Harry and Ginny remained perfectly still, watching Crouch's reaction intently.
"And the others disagreed?" Crouch finally asked, keeping his voice controlled.
"Violently," Harry confirmed, with a hint of dark humor. "Called the first group crazy, said they were trying to grab power using Voldemort's name."
Crouch flinched at the name but to his credit, he recovered quickly. "And that's when the fighting started?"
"That's when the killing started," Ginny corrected coolly. "One second they were shouting, the next there were curses flying everywhere. Not stunners either. The deadly kind."
"They weren't holding back," Harry added. "It was... efficient."
"Efficient," Crouch repeated, studying Harry with renewed intensity. "An interesting choice of words, Mr. Potter."
Harry met his gaze directly. "It's an accurate one. They weren't dueling for show. They meant to kill, and they did."
"Can you describe any specific spells you saw?" Crouch asked, his quill ready again.
Harry's expression remained neutral. "Green lights. Red lights. Purple ones that seemed to cut through flesh. I'm not exactly a spell expert, Mr. Crouch."
"But you recognized the Killing Curse?" Crouch pushed.
"Everyone knows what that looks like," Harry replied, his tone suddenly cooler. "Don't they?"
The tension in the room increased. Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. "Barty, perhaps we should—"
"What happened next?" Crouch interrupted, completely ignoring Arthur.
"Chaos," Ginny said simply. "Bodies falling. Screaming. Blood." She shrugged like this was normal. "We didn't stick around to watch the end."
"Understandable," Crouch muttered, making another note. He looked up sharply. "Did you see Lucius Malfoy among them?"
Harry and Ginny exchanged another quick glance.
"Hard to tell with the masks," Harry said carefully. "They all look the same in those robes. And they were wearing hats, so couldn't see his girly hair either. Would've easily spotted him otherwise."
"But you're aware he was found dead?" Crouch pressed, ignoring the hint of mockery in Harry's voice.
"We read it in the Prophet this morning," Ginny confirmed, her face giving nothing away.
Crouch leaned back in his chair, putting his fingertips together under his chin. "Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley... I'm going to be honest with you. We found over two dozen wizards in Death Eater regalia in the area. All dead."
"That's a lot," Harry murmured, a flash of something dark passing behind his eyes.
"The spell damage was... extensive," Crouch continued, watching them closely. "Our experts say it was unlike anything they've seen since the height of the war. Precise work. Lethal. Not the kind of magic you'd expect from drunk Death Eaters having a disagreement."
"Are you asking us something specific, Mr. Crouch?" Ginny asked, lifting her chin slightly in challenge.
Arthur shifted again, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Barty, if you're suggesting—"
"I'm not suggesting anything, Arthur," Crouch cut in smoothly. "I'm trying to understand what happened. These children witnessed something unprecedented."
"We're not children," Harry said quietly, his voice somehow filling the room despite its softness. "And we've told you what we saw."
Crouch studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Yes, you have. Now, let me tell you what we found." He pulled a file from his desk drawer and opened it. "Crabbe, dead. Cause: severed spine. Goyle, dead. Cause: blood loss from multiple precision cutting curses. Parkinson, dead. Cause: unknown, but his heart was physically crushed within his chest. Malfoy, dead. Cause: decapitation by curse."
Arthur visibly paled. "Merlin's beard, Barty! Is this necessary?"
"I believe it is," Crouch replied without taking his eyes off Harry and Ginny. "Because this wasn't just Death Eaters fighting each other. This was execution-level spellwork. The kind that requires training. Intent. Power."
Harry's expression didn't change, his eyes steady on Crouch's. "Sounds like they took their argument seriously."
"Indeed," Crouch said softly. "Most seriously." He closed the file with a snap. "Did you witness any of these specific deaths?"
"No," Harry answered evenly. "Like Ginny said, we didn't stick around."
"And you saw no one else nearby? No other wizards who might have gotten involved?"
"Just Death Eaters killing Death Eaters," Ginny confirmed, her fingers tapping lightly on the arm of her chair. "If someone else was there, we didn't see them."
Crouch's mustache twitched again, showing his frustration. "I see." He made one final note before putting down his quill. "Well, I appreciate your time. If you remember anything else—anything at all—I want you to contact me directly."
"Of course," Harry agreed easily, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward. "Are we done here?"
"For now," Crouch said, eyeing them keenly. "Though I may have more questions as our investigation continues."
"We're happy to help," Arthur jumped in, standing quickly. "But these two have been through quite an ordeal. I'm sure you understand."
"Perfectly," Crouch replied, though his eyes said otherwise. He stood, extending his hand first to Arthur, then to Harry. "Mr. Potter, a word of advice, if I may?"
Harry accepted the handshake, his grip firm. "Sure."
Crouch held on a moment longer than necessary, his eyes boring into Harry's. "These are dangerous times. Even whispers of You-Know-Who's return can spark... unwise actions. Best to be careful about repeating such things."
"I only told you what I heard," Harry replied, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable edge. "What you do with that information is up to you. But if there's even 0.1 percent of truth to it... I don't think I need to tell you what it could mean."
"Indeed," Crouch murmured, releasing his hand. "Indeed you don't."
To be continued...
Check out patreon.com/Vedros for more of my work. Also, find me on any other site using the same username. Just add it after the URL and you're good to go. Thanks for reading.