Corban Yaxley was in a panic.
He couldn't wrap his head around it.
How had things spiraled to this point? The Ministry of Magic had him on a full-blown manhunt. Floo Networks were off-limits, Apparition would leave traces for specialized tracking teams to find, his house-elf was under surveillance and useless to him, his assets were frozen, and even his family's vault at Gringotts was sealed shut.
It was only now that he understood why his family had poured so much effort into the Wizengamot, fighting to curb the Ministry's influence. In times like these, the so-called glory of being one of the "Sacred Twenty-Eight" pure-blood families wasn't as useful as he'd thought.
Everything he'd built over the years at the Ministry—his entire career in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—had crumbled overnight. Was it all about to become his undoing?
"Damn it!" he muttered furiously.
He adjusted the snake coiled around his neck, letting it sink its fangs into his ear. He cast a cold glance at the shadowy figure of an Auror lurking near one of his family's hidden safe houses, then pulled his trench coat tighter, tipped his hat lower, and slipped deeper into the street.
This snake was a gift from his master, a charm that rendered any magic-detection spells useless. To the Aurors, he'd look like just another Muggle passing by.
But that didn't solve his real problems.
Yaxley couldn't rely on his family's resources anymore, and he had no way to contact his master. The arm bearing the Dark Mark was gone, leaving him with no clue where to find him.
He was like a stray dog, aimlessly wandering, desperately searching for a way out.
It wasn't easy.
He knew he couldn't leave Britain. Fleeing might get him out from under the Ministry's thumb, but it would also mean throwing away everything he'd invested in Voldemort. Leaving now, when his master was at his weakest, would be seen as betrayal. Voldemort needed loyalty, not deserters.
He had to find his master—fast.
That meant taking a risk and seeking out a powerful seer. It was an ancient wizarding profession, one few still practiced. This witch, living far from the wizarding community, had to have the answers.
The only problem? He had nothing to offer her greedy appetite—not a single Galleon to his name.
Damn it! When had a high-ranking Ministry official from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight ever had to worry about money?
Northwest England, Manchester.
In an unremarkable street in a Muggle neighborhood, Yaxley clutched his bloodied, aching right shoulder, where his arm used to be. The pain from the stump was relentless, the numbing shocks from the healing potions fraying his nerves and making it hard to focus.
Gritting his teeth through another wave of electric pain, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow and pushed into a barbershop.
Ding-a-ling!
A strange wind chime by the wall let out a crisp, eerie sound as he entered.
A middle-aged Haitian woman cutting a Muggle's hair glanced at him, then nodded toward a few people chatting in the corner to deal with him.
Yaxley didn't dare make a wrong move. In the past, he might've brushed off these low-level wizards with a sneer, but now he forced a friendly smile.
"I need to see Lady Marie," he said as they led him to a corner, away from the Muggle customers. He bristled under their questioning stares.
"Mama Marie isn't seeing anyone right now!" a young wizard said, chewing Muggle gum and giving Yaxley a sideways look. He rubbed his fingers together, clearly expecting a bribe.
Damn it!
The nerve of this kid, trying to extort him!
Yaxley fixed him with an icy stare. "Do you know who I am?"
The kid smirked. "You could be Dumbledore for all I care. I'm in charge here. You want to see Mama Marie? You go through me."
The title "Mama Marie" wasn't literal—she wasn't this kid's mother. It was a respectful Haitian wizarding term for Lady Marie, known as the "Mother of Repose."
Yaxley glanced at the other wizards, confirming this cocky kid was indeed the gatekeeper. Reluctantly, he patted his pockets.
Damn it. Everything he carried was a family heirloom, and losing any of it would sting.
After a long pause, he pulled out a pocket watch and handed it over.
The kid took it, inspecting it with a dismissive air, fiddling with its dials. Yaxley snapped, "That's a Time-Turner. Unless you want to cause a catastrophe, I'd suggest you stop messing with it."
He was bluffing, of course.
The Yaxley family, known for their mastery of time magic, often damaged their precious Time-Turners with heavy use. This one was broken, but not worthless—he could repair it. The Yaxleys had the skill to craft and fix Time-Turners.
"A Time-Turner?!" The Haitian woman, who'd been eavesdropping, hurried over and snatched the watch from the kid. "Don't touch this dangerous thing!"
She studied Yaxley, sizing him up, then tossed the watch back. "You must be someone important. Follow me."
"That's mine!" the kid protested.
The woman smacked the back of his head. "Touch anything you can't control, and it'll only bring you trouble."
She motioned for Yaxley to follow her toward the back of the shop.
They pushed through colorful curtains and down a damp, dimly lit alley, stopping at the back door of a small building. She told him to wait and went inside to announce him.
After what felt like forever, she returned. "You've got twenty minutes."
She gestured for him to enter.
The room was cluttered with strange herbs, giving off a sharp, pungent smell mixed with the faint aroma of burnt incense. It made Yaxley uneasy.
Finally, he faced Lady Marie, who was teaching a group of children. She was a striking middle-aged Haitian witch with mixed heritage, adorned with odd seashell accessories that clinked as she moved.
"Corban Yaxley…" Lady Marie sipped her tea, not bothering to offer him any. Her eyes flicked to the empty space where his right arm should've been. "Last time you came to me, you promised to look into something for me as payment. Any progress?"
Yaxley's face froze.
Lady Marie had asked him to track down a missing piece of her life—stolen time, she claimed. He hadn't done a thing about it.
"Someone stole the best part of my life. I know it," she muttered, setting down her cup. "I went to all that trouble to help you, just asking you, a so-called 'time explorer' Yaxley, to look into the past for me. And you've done nothing."
Her gaze turned icy. "Why should I even let you stand here?"
"I didn't have a choice," Yaxley said, exasperated. "I've been caught up in my own mess. I need to sort it out first. Please, Lady Marie, for the sake of our shared Yaxley blood, help me one more time."
She stared at him coldly. "You can leave."
Having Yaxley blood wasn't something to brag about. It hadn't brought her any benefits—only exclusion from her own community since childhood.
Yaxley reached into his pocket and pulled out three Time-Turners, placing them gently on the table. "Help me, and I'll find your answers right after."
He pushed the Time-Turners closer. "If you don't, I might end up dead. Then you'll have to search through time yourself. But you're a powerful witch with Yaxley blood—maybe you've got a knack for time travel too, huh?"
Lady Marie pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
She stared at the Time-Turners, objects she'd never been privileged enough to touch, for a long time.
Finally, without touching them, she stood and headed toward another room. "Follow me."
Yaxley let out a breath, slipping the Time-Turners back into his coat. He clutched his aching shoulder, wincing, then followed her through the curtain.
The room was bizarre.
The walls were covered in vibrant, unsettling graffiti, and a long stone trough ran across the floor. Lady Marie was tossing colorful plant seeds into it, murmuring something in Haitian, her fingers brushing the seeds as she chanted what sounded like a spell.
"Hoo~"
She blew into the trough, and the seeds began to smoke, releasing a strange, faintly nauseating odor.
"Come here," she said.
She drew a circle on the floor with her wand, and the smoke from the trough drifted into it, forming a large, crystal-ball-like cloud.
Yaxley stepped inside, coughing.
"What do you want to ask?" Lady Marie said.
"I need to find someone," Yaxley replied.
She waved her wand rapidly, then paused. "It's possible, but they're moving away from you. You don't have much time."
She sprinkled yellow powder into the smoke and left the room.
Yaxley ignored her, staring at the eerie particles swirling in the mist. His eyes stung, tears welling up, until a burly figure appeared faintly in the smoke.
"Master?" he asked, uncertain.
"Your master doesn't want to see you, Corban. You've disappointed him," the figure said, voice dripping with mockery.
"Fenrir Greyback?" Yaxley froze. He'd sought Voldemort through this ritual, but instead, he got the werewolf.
"It's me," Greyback said, his laugh wild and smug. "You're useless now, Corban. The master trusts me more. If you've got even a shred of loyalty left, don't drag your mess to him. He needs time to recover, to prepare for his return."
"I'm not trying to bring him trouble!" Yaxley snarled, his heart sinking. Useless? Was that true?
No.
He still had value. He could still be useful.
Clenching his remaining fist, he glared at Greyback's smug figure. "Let me see the master. You don't speak for him. I have—"
Before he could finish, a shout rang out from outside. "Expelliarmus!"
Boom!
A loud crash followed.
"The Chosen One, Harry Potter?" someone yelled.
Another voice shouted, "Gilderoy Lockhart?"
"Damn it!" Greyback's smugness vanished. He turned on Yaxley, panicked. "Cut this weird connection now, you idiot! Are you trying to bring trouble to the master?"
"I can handle it!" Yaxley snapped, glancing venomously toward the door. He turned back, pleading, "Just one meeting. Even a glimpse. I need the master's guidance."
But all he got was a sharp, furious roar—his master's voice. A terrifying black mist surged, forming a massive skull. A venomous snake slithered from its mouth, lunging toward the smoky connection.
"Master?" Yaxley's eyes lit up. "Master, give me a chance! I'll fix everything. Don't give up on me!"
The snake struck, and the smoke dissipated. Only Voldemort's voice lingered, fading slowly: "Let's hope so."
(End of Chapter)