Shadows of the Archive
The archivist, Gareth Fit—a young man with a thin face and a perpetually distracted gaze—wasn't supposed to be there. His task was simple: log a confiscated item and return it to storage.
But something was wrong.
The display case, which should've been sealed, was wide open.
The security enchantment… completely disabled.
And at the center, unrolled as if it had been waiting for him, lay an ancient scroll with singed edges.
Gareth blinked, cautiously stepping closer. He read the first lines.
His heart skipped a beat.
"Riddle… Tom Marvolo Riddle… activity detected near Little Hangleton, 1957… reports suppressed by higher order…"
His eyes widened as a chill ran down his spine.
"Merlin's beard… This is about Voldemort…" he whispered, stunned.
He didn't hesitate. Dropping the papers he was holding, he quickly rolled up the scroll with trembling hands and stashed it away. His body moved on instinct while his mind raced with images of long-whispered theories: rumors about fragments of the Dark Lord's soul—about hidden objects that, if found, could not only prevent his final resurrection but also bring an unprecedented fortune as a reward.
That the case was open at that exact moment… didn't even register. His excitement drowned out all suspicion.
He walked off briskly, a grin spreading across his face—completely unaware of the shadows beginning to slither silently around him.
As he turned a corner, a flash of green greeted him.
A figure dressed entirely in black—robes unmistakably belonging to a Death Eater—raised their wand.
"Avada—"
Gareth froze. Hearing just the first syllable was enough to paralyze him with fear.
But the curse was never completed.
Three enchanted metal daggers sliced through the air with lethal precision, driving themselves deep into the attacker's chest. Magical defenses shattered like paper against the enchanted steel.
Out of the darkness stepped Cedric Diggory.
He wore a reinforced dark uniform, detailed with red stitching that enhanced mobility and stealth. A hood covered most of his face, and a mask—clearly annoying to him—obscured the rest. It was a uniform Einar would've recognized instantly: the gear of the Dark Brotherhood.
"Run," Cedric ordered, voice firm, eyes still locked on the now-lifeless body.
"W-What? What's happening?" Gareth stammered, still dazed.
"You're in the middle of a trap. This zone was set up for something important. Who sent you?"
"I-I just came to file a report!"
"There's no time. Go. Now!"
Cedric turned just in time to dodge a curse. Moving with supernatural speed, he guided the daggers through the air with one hand using telekinesis, while casting protective spells with his wand in the other.
Another enemy, cloaked in black smoke, descended from the ceiling, lunging toward Gareth.
A sudden blast of light hurled him backwards.
Sirius Black stepped into view at the far end of the corridor—his stride relaxed, his eyes calm but sharp as steel.
"Looks like we've got more spies in here than we thought," he said, deflecting a surprise hex with a swift flick of his wand. Though Sirius often played the fool, few remembered just how dangerous he truly was. Ever since his near-death experience, he no longer mocked Moody's obsession with vigilance. Constant vigilance—he now lived by those words.
"Remember—alive if possible!" shouted Tonks, appearing from around a corner with a dazzling midair flip. She danced through the hail of curses like a war-born acrobat, returning spells with grace and deadly precision.
Within minutes, the chaos subsided.
Five Death Eaters had been brought down. Two of them, still breathing, were bound with reinforced magical ropes.
But one, before he could be interrogated, bit down hard on something hidden in his back tooth. A thick, black liquid oozed from his mouth—poison.
The other tried to do the same, but a blur of movement intercepted him. Runa appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the prisoner's jaw and dislocating it with a sharp, echoing snap.
Cedric, Tonks, and Sirius stared in stunned silence.
"You lose a point," Runa said coldly to Cedric before vanishing as swiftly as she had come.
Sirius broke the silence. "You're still being evaluated?"
"Honestly… I've never been told when it ends," Cedric replied, exhaling with exhaustion.
"Let's get them to holding. Maybe we can get some answers," said Tonks, heading for the elevator.
"And someone keep an eye on that idiot… Gareth," she added, her tone laced with distrust.
Director Bones' Office – Ministry of Magic
Amelia Bones stood upright, eyes fixed on an enchanted board. Glowing threads connected names, locations, and dates. A web of conspiracies—unfinished, but growing.
Moody sat in the corner, hunched and grim, wand resting across his knees. Several familiar faces surrounded them, all tense. They knew what this attack meant.
"A few minutes ago, we triggered a trap inside the Ministry… and it worked," Moody said flatly.
The tension thickened.
No one had been told. Everyone thought Moody had uncovered legitimate intelligence. But it had all been a ruse—a calculated move to lure out the traitors.
And it had succeeded.
"One drop of Veritaserum for everyone in this room, and we'd be done in five minutes," Moody growled, eyes scanning the others. Nobody dared protest. Nobody wanted to look suspicious in front of him.
"Let's hope the prisoners talk," Amelia replied, her voice low but resolute.
Now, as Acting Minister until the elections, she wasn't just fighting Voldemort… she was fighting a war within. Espionage. Betrayal. Corruption.
Scrimgeour and Thicknesse were busy fighting for the throne. But while they campaigned and schemed, Amelia and her team were cleaning up the Ministry in the shadows.
The threats were everywhere. Infiltrated Death Eaters. Rogue dark wizards. Informants selling secrets. Every expedition to find a Horcrux risked turning into an ambush if they weren't extremely careful.
The door burst open.
Sirius entered, confident and direct.
"What have you got, Black?" Moody asked without preamble.
"They were ordinary workers under the Imperius Curse. Fake robes. Reflexive obedience. They didn't even know why they were there," Sirius said, shaking his head.
"And that Gareth fellow… he just seems like a clumsy employee who left his work for the last minute. Just in case, he's already under surveillance."
Moody clicked his tongue in frustration. "Tsk…"
"It's better if we start searching for those things," said Sirius, crossing his arms with a tense expression. "We don't know if they're already gathering information about where their master might have hidden them."
"We have a few leads Dumbledore left us…" murmured Amelia, her gaze fixed on the wizards in the room. "But… what if some of those leads were leaked by spies…"
Her words hung in the air like a curse.
Everyone knew what she meant.
Everyone was under scrutiny.
Even those who had fought in previous wars. Even those who had bled for the Ministry.
"I know you all distrust each other. And honestly… I understand," Amelia continued, a trace of sadness in her voice. "The Order of the Phoenix is working on their own. For now, we can only wait for their support. I want to believe in you… each of you. I've known many of you for years. But you also know what we're up against."
No one spoke.
There was no need.
The distrust in the room was thick—like the air inside a sealed tomb. Every glance, every silence, every twitch… could mean betrayal. This was a war with no front lines, where the enemy might be sitting right beside you.
"We understand, Director," said one of the Aurors, his tone firm. "If we suspect anyone among us, we'll report it to you immediately."
"Good. You're dismissed," Amelia said with a small gesture.
The group began to disperse when Sirius's communicator sphere grew warm in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out, and Molly Weasley's face appeared inside.
"Molly, did you find anything?" he asked at once.
Molly shook her head, visibly concerned.
"One of the places Dumbledore mentioned… where the old orphanage of you-know-who once stood. Arthur and Bill went there. There was a powerful magical defense. Arthur came back in bad shape, but they managed to retrieve the object that was there."
Sirius frowned.
"And?"
"It was a fake," Molly said, her voice turning harder. "Someone else got there first."
The image shifted slightly. Arthur Weasley was lying on a makeshift stretcher, being tended to by Alice Longbottom. His face was pale, covered in magical cuts. Beside him, Bill held a dark necklace, his expression filled with frustration.
"That bloody… R.A.B.! What the hell did we go through all that for?" Bill growled, gripping the object tightly.
Sirius straightened sharply.
"What did he say?"
"R.A.B.," Molly repeated, confused. "Whoever took the real horcrux left a note. It was signed with those initials—R. A. B."
Sirius's silence lasted only a second—but it was enough for everyone in the room to notice.
"No… it can't be," he murmured, taking a step back.
"What does the note say?" he finally asked.
"Do you want me to read it to you?"
"No. I'm heading there now."
Without waiting for a reply, Sirius put the sphere away and left the room like a shadow vanishing through the door.
Moody narrowed his eyes.
"You know something?" he asked in a low, firm tone.
"I'm not sure… but…" Sirius paused at the doorway, his gaze fixed on the floor. "My brother. Regulus. He was a Death Eater. No one really knows how he died. He just… vanished. And I doubt Voldemort would've gone to the trouble of killing him personally unless he did something… significant."
His voice was tight, heavy with a mix of pain, anger, and uncertainty.
"My family worshipped the Dark Lord. So why him? Why disappear without a trace… unless it was for something like this?"
Moody stood up slowly.
"What are you waiting for? Go."