"Unsworths," Lucius nodded, looking at his son. "Oliver Unsworth. And a certain Edmund Renfro. There were others, but he hasn't remembered their names yet."
"The memory is returning in fragments," Arcturus said quietly, with effort, not raising his eyes. "But it's definitely the Unsworths..."
His son's voice was weak and halting, momentarily cooling Narcissa's fury. She threw a worried glance at him, but soon turned back to her husband.
"And now what?" she asked for the third time, advancing on Lucius. "When? When will they die!?"
"Narcissa, I'm not yet certain it's the Unsworths. We need time to be sure of their guilt," Lucius sighed. "Our son only recalled a surname and a name. We must verify everything and prepare..."
"Verify?" Her voice shrieked. "He gave you a name! He gave you a surname! You have everything you need! What more verification!? They dared to lay hands on your son! MY SON!"
"I promised they would regret it the moment we found the culprits, and I will keep my word!" Lucius turned to her, his patience snapping. "But we cannot simply march on the Unsworths! We must gather our people! Prepare everything for absorbing their assets, and secure ourselves!"
"To hell with your verifications and assets!" Narcissa screamed in rage, clenching her fists. "They tortured your heir! I saw those scars and all those wounds! And you speak of BUSINESS!?"
"I speak of the fact that the Unsworths are not necessarily guilty!" Lucius roared. "Reckless revenge will not help. We must approach this intelligently. We must be certain that they..."
Arcturus listened silently, trying to suppress the mounting pain. Every shout hammered in his temples. His head was splitting as if under monstrous pressure from within. From time to time, real, full-fledged memories surfaced before his eyes, not like those fragments that felt more like dreams than memory.
But with each new piece of memory, he felt worse and worse. A collapse...
"Intelligently!?" Narcissa snorted with contempt. "Your 'intelligence' has already let them stay free for weeks! Fine. If you won't do it, I will do it myself!"
She turned sharply.
"Where are you going?" her husband asked in cold anger.
"I'll take our guards and pay a 'polite' visit to these Unsworths! Personally! After that, you won't need to verify anything!"
"Narcissa!" The bang of his cane on the stone floor was loud. He caught up to her, grabbing her arm. "You will not take a single step! Enough hysterics!"
"Take your hands off me, or you'll regret it, Lucius! And don't you dare call this hysterics!" She wrenched her arm free. "You know better than to anger me! You promised. You swore to avenge our son. And now you're hiding behind paperwork! Our fathers would have skinned every suspect alive for such a thing!"
"Enough! Fine. I will prepare everything by tomorrow and then... they will regret that..."
At that moment, Arcturus swayed weakly. The argument between his parents reached him as if through a thickness of water. A warm, salty liquid ran over his lips. He wiped his nose with his hand and saw blood on his fingers. His vision kept darkening, and the room spun. Another convulsive breath, and his body went completely limp, his eyes closing. He slid silently from the armchair to the floor, leaving a bloody smear on his pale skin.
***
Godfrey Unsworth sat in the leather armchair of his study, a heavy glass of aged firewhisky his reward after weighty thoughts... in the evening. Over the past weeks, he had thoroughly frayed his nerves... or rather, his younger brother had. And today, something intangible troubled Unsworth. That hateful feeling when something presses on your consciousness from within, but you can't tell what. A sort of unease... anxiety, perhaps.
Strange, for while the world of the elder Unsworth had almost collapsed due to his brother's idiocy, right now, everything seemed fine. Even very fine.
The silence in the study allowed him to sit and think about further actions almost all day. His family, meanwhile, was carefree, enjoying life: some in the manor, others strolling the streets of Diagon Alley, shopping with friends. The head of the family, however, was thinking about Oliver. His brother's name was like a splinter in his mind. Useless, weak, forever living in the shadow of others' success, the younger brother. His ambitions, based on nothing but the resentment of a puny pup, had almost become the end of the entire Unsworth line.
And Godfrey knew... he had warned him, but no matter how much he spoke to this empty-headed fool, as in school, he understood nothing. And now he never would.
He set the glass aside, clasped his fingers, and began mentally reviewing the events of the last weeks. Oliver had failed him again, getting involved in the dangerous scheme to kidnap the Malfoy heir or rather, he had concocted the scheme himself and dragged his friends into it. This time, his recklessness endangered not only his own life but Godfrey's and that of their entire family.
Godfrey clenched his fists, remembering how he'd had to intervene urgently. Fortunately, Oliver hadn't managed to conduct the exchange himself, and Godfrey, as always, managed to fix everything. He personally organized the exchange and swept away all traces, except for the cave; Edmund, who was now dead, had cleaned that up. So Oliver said. In short, if not for Godfrey's composure and experience, the family would have been finished.
Thankfully, Oliver hadn't left any clues during the kidnapping... although Godfrey was meticulous enough to have even devised a way to save the family if something went wrong during the exchange. Fortunately, everything worked out. But a powerful Portkey with a barrier-piercer and several Portkeys were now always on him, in the manor.
These thoughts reminded him of another time and even another fire — the campfires they made when stopping for rest during another assignment.
Godfrey, leaning back in his chair, looked at the ceiling. Those were the days... always as dangerous as walking on the edge of a sharp sword.
After finishing Hogwarts, unable to bear his father's constant pressure, he ran off to become a mercenary. Youthful maximalism pushed him to reckless acts, but his natural cunning always saved him. Five years in the "Steel Claw" unit tempered his character. There, his mind and skills were forged into true steel.
He wasn't the strongest fighter, but he became the most cold-blooded tactician. Starting as a rookie in a small mercenary group, he eventually rose to command a combat "star" when their unit expanded to two stars, and sometimes had enough for three full stars, but due to horrific turnover, three fully staffed groups were rare. He often joked with the commander that their unit should be called "two and a half full stars."
In five years of that life, he saw death in mud and blood. He risked his life countless times. But had he stayed in Britain, it wouldn't have been better. Here, the civil war was just beginning to gain momentum.
When news came that his old man had died during one of the first large-scale Death Eater attacks, he had to return.
In the end, his father's death was attributed to victims of a Death Eater attack, and while no one was safe from a stray Avada, his father was the head of a pure-blood family in the fifth generation and had remained neutral. And in those days, the Avada Kedavra curse was used by both sides without compunction. In any case, Godfrey didn't care whether an Auror had hit his father or a Death Eater — his father was dead, and that was that, and he returned. Not out of sentimentality, of course, but out of duty. To lead the family and thus save the remaining kin and the name.
His experience helped him not only survive the chaos but also elevate the Unsworth line. What's more, over the years of the civil war and after, he managed not only to raise the family's status but also to multiply its wealth. A joke, but he almost secured an engagement with the Selwyns — not the most influential but still a noble line and one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It would have been a pass into high society for his son and, of course, a chance to elevate the family's status further.
But everything collapsed due to the Selwyn daughter's dislike for his eldest son, who was also publicly humiliated by the Malfoy heir. His eldest son disappointed him more with each passing day. Because of this, he began to place more bets on his younger son.
But that's not the point. Even after receiving a refusal from Lord Selwyn, he understood that if it didn't work out with the Selwyns, he had to seek other opportunities. He understood how real life worked and didn't even think of avenging himself on the Malfoys. Not his league, far from it. Of course, there was resentment, but even if he couldn't ally with such a distinguished family, he would with another, and if not, the next generation would surely manage it.
Oliver, his worthless younger brother, possessed neither strength nor intellect. So many times he interfered in this affair, seeking his elder brother's approval, just as many times he was refused by Godfrey along with a sensible tirade on why it was stupid to try to get revenge on the Malfoys.
His younger brother had been a disappointment since childhood. Even his school friends, practically henchmen, showed better results in magic after school. One of them was a fighter, and not bad. He could probably handle a green, inexperienced Auror, but no more. In any case, that was a level where he might have been taken into the Steel Claw unit. Though, with a high chance, the turnover would have only increased, but still.
Those two brothers who died because of Oliver were first-generation pure-bloods. And still better than his brother. At least he didn't have to dirty his hands with them; the hostage managed it himself.
Godfrey remembered with a bitter smirk that many Muggle-borns confused pure-bloods with aristocrats. To become a first-generation pure-blood required only three generations of wizards in a family, but that didn't grant a seat in the Wizengamot or make you a noble lord. Even the Unsworths, pure in the fifth generation, had no titles in the Muggle world, and in the magical world, they were recognized only due to power and some degree of wealth.
His thoughts returned to recent events. No matter how much he cursed his brother with the harshest words, the ransom they managed to get was enormous.
Though the Unsworth line was not poor, three million Galleons was not to be found in their vaults. What's more, over the family's entire existence, all their assets were only three times that sum. Monstrous money, earned in a week instead of decades of work of all their businesses combined.
But Godfrey had no intention of leaving this money idle. Once he completely purified it of dangerous charms, trackers, and other nastiness, he wouldn't let the gold lie as a dead weight. Mountains of Galleons would go into expanding the main business and creating more additional income sources. Fortunately, the head of the Unsworth family knew where to invest it.
True, Oliver paid the full price for this venture by losing his mind. Now he was reaping dividends from his deadly escapade in the form of payment for his upkeep and treatment in a private clinic with a couple of mentalists. The head mentalist of this modest establishment said the treatment should be gentle, after all, it was just a mild form of madness caused by a semi-severe form of several psychological disorders, non-magical in nature.
In six months, he would regain his sanity, if he ever had any. And in a couple of years, he should fully recover. If it were up to Godfrey and if the clinic in Italy were a bit cheaper, he would have left Oliver there for lifelong treatment. But you can't have everything. Though he planned to transfer his brother to Italy anyway, just a bit later.
The elder Unsworth simply couldn't get used to the thought that his younger brother had failed even such a seemingly simple task.
Two adult wizards of above-average skill were supposed to simply guard and feed strengthening potions to the half-dead Malfoy heir — a teenager with broken ribs, a broken arm, drained of blood, and exhausted from dozens of wounds and injuries. For two days, he was imprisoned, with his legs and one arm bound.
For two full days, this boy was a helpless hostage, and what? The Renfro brothers are dead. The first died when the three of them tried to capture the disoriented and already wounded teenager, and the second lost half his head, blown up by the hands of the one they considered a helpless victim! And Oliver himself... Godfrey clenched his fists. His brother not only failed the task but almost died at the hands of Lucius Malfoy's heir.
It seemed impossible, but despite not having time to question his brother thoroughly then, he did so later. And although Oliver's insane answers, having gone mad, could safely be divided by two or even three, the picture was still extremely strange and frightening.
This Arcturus, in such a state, after the nightly Cruciatus tortures — which break some people's spirit — not only killed Edmund but almost finished off Oliver himself. Though, if he had done that... Godfrey paused for a moment. Perhaps it would have been for the best. But he would never say that aloud.
When he arrived and saw the scene, he had to act quickly. And three million Galleons ransom was more than enough to spend a few tens of thousands sending his deranged brother to the elite Italian clinic Santo Mental for a year, if not more. And most importantly, the distance would be great. Let them deal with him there. A few tens of thousands — mere trifles after such earnings.
On the day Godfrey appeared at that same place, he saw and understood everything. He quietly approached the exhausted Arcturus and erased his memory. Just in case, he cast Obliviate several times in a row, completely wiping the last three days. Although, in the heat of rage, he wanted to erase everything or kill him, he restrained himself. Whatever one might say, there was still some love for his brother. But by sparing the boy's life and most of his memory, Godfrey hoped that in a couple of months, the Malfoys would calm down and stop searching. And Godfrey had a sort of code of honor, so he fulfilled his part of the bargain.
He was sure the boy's memory could not be restored. At thirteen, no one learned Occlumency well enough to preserve anything, and he himself had done a thorough job, wiping everything clean to the last thought.
But one thing nagged at him — how had this boy, barely alive, managed not only to defend himself immediately after the kidnapping but also kill one of the three kidnappers, Edgar? It gave him pause. It was frightening to imagine what this Malfoy would grow into and how dangerous he might become in the future.
Now the head of the Unsworth family even doubted. Had he done the right thing by not eliminating the potential threat? In the magical world, much was possible — what if the memory could be restored after all? A chill ran down his spine, but no, he immediately dismissed these thoughts. Not after three consecutive Obliviates. It was impossible.
He finished the firewhisky, setting the glass on the table. Now the main thing was to wait it out. Even if they found nothing, they had to digest what they had gained.
The peace did not last long. Godfrey's gaze slid across the study and caught on a trinket on the marble mantelpiece — an elegant crystal sphere suspended on a silver chain. Inside the sphere floated a drop of mercury, usually motionless. Now, however, the droplet trembled finely, pulsating and leaving a faint silvery trail. The artifact was more of a curiosity and a toy, sensitive to strong disturbances in the magical background. Sometimes it shuddered if a family member cast a powerful spell in the yard. But now, the house was in tomb-like silence.
Meanwhile, the anxious feeling, dormant in his chest, began to grow, tightening his throat. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
And in the next instant, the world shuddered from the most powerful explosion.
A deafening roar from outside made him flinch. Godfrey rushed to the window and saw how the evening, almost night sky over the estate was lit up by piercing blue light. The magical barrier surrounding their home, an invisible protective veil, materialized, becoming a dense, glowing dome. It shifted into active mode; the complex of charms barely withstood the first attack. In the next second, the shield began to flare with dozens of powerful explosions. New and new spells kept hitting it with tremendous force. Someone or something was attacking their defenses with immense pressure. The head of the family, quickly grabbing the barrier-piercing Portkey from the drawer under his desk, bolted straight to his family.