"Let's see whose cursed face this belongs to," Moody muttered, his gruff voice cutting through the thick, settling dust. He used the tip of his wand, not out of respect but necessity, to flip the lifeless body of the fanatic Death Eater. With a quick, sharp tug, he ripped the ornate silver mask from the wizard's face.
Moody grunted, his magical eye whirring as it cataloged the features of the deceased. "Ah, Evan Rosier. Should have guessed. Always the arrogant one. I suppose this is what happens when you follow a power-mad lunatic instead of the law. Corrupted by the Dark Lord, thoroughly and completely. They say he was a classmate of that young idiot, Wilkes, the one Sirius and James cornered a while back. Well, he certainly deserved this fate for daring to raise his wand against the security of the children."
The veteran Auror collected the wands of the four defeated wizards with practiced ease. As he worked, he paused, his gaze sweeping over the intricate mess: the debris-strewn floor, the magically shredded door, and the precise, defensive trench of broken furniture.
He muttered mostly to himself, a low assessment that Anduin, still lingering, was only partially meant to hear.
"Rosier killed... three stunned and secured. All by three witches and one small apprentice who never even spoke an incantation for the killing shot. And he was casting silently, too? That's not mere talent, that's dangerous. They bagged more Death Eaters in this cramped hole than we secured on the entire main battlefield. A remarkable, if utterly reckless, piece of work."
The crisis, though contained, had left the basement saturated with dark magic and the sharp smell of ozone. Moody, with the prisoners secured by strong, non-verbal Incarcerous Charms, finally gave Anduin a nod of dismissal. Anduin, still feeling the tremor of the near-fatal Killing Curse, quickly hurried out of the basement, clutching his bag and his borrowed wand.
As Anduin ascended the stairs, he entered a scene of chaotic, weary relief. The main hall of the Potters' home was a testament to the brutality of the fight. The air still hung heavy with dust and the lingering metallic smell of dark curses.
The front door was splintered beyond immediate repair, and the interior walls were peppered with scorch marks and deep craters where spells had impacted.
Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix, their robes torn and their faces streaked with soot, were busy with salvage and repair.
Anduin recognized the grimly focused Edgar Bones, the weary but determined Emmeline Vance, and the Prewitt twins—Gideon and Fabian—whose identical, boisterous energy was subdued by exhaustion. He also spotted Marlene McKinnon, Charles Weasley's aunt, a tough-looking woman who was efficiently banishing the heavier debris.
Gathered in the center of the hall was the core group of defenders, their attention focused on two bandaged figures: Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.
"James! Frank!"
Lily and Alice rushed into the hall, each clutching their child, their faces still etched with the fear of the basement encounter. Their husbands, upon seeing them safe, immediately rushed forward.
"Lily, thank God! We won! You have no idea what we've been through!" James embraced his wife fiercely, his own tension only now starting to unwind. He and the others were completely oblivious to the far greater, focused danger that had nearly claimed their family in the safe house.
While the main reunion took place, Anduin focused on the injured. Sirius Black was severely bandaged, his entire upper torso and right arm tightly wrapped, suggesting heavy, targeted cursing. He was pale but stood stoically, leaning slightly on Remus Lupin for support. He managed a slight, weak, yet entirely characteristic scowl when he caught Anduin's eye.
Peter Pettigrew, on the other hand, had a dramatically wrapped right hand, which he was using as a visual prop. He was holding court, surrounded by the twins and Emmeline Vance.
"And I told them, I said, 'You want a fight? You'll have to get through Peter Pettigrew first!'" Peter was saying, his voice high-pitched and boastful.
"The curse was aimed straight at my chest, a terrible cutting hex! I rolled—a perfect dodge, I might add—and I must have grazed my right hand on some shrapnel. A flesh wound, of course, but it bought Sirius and Remus time to flank them! A true act of bravery, I assure you!"
Anduin watched this ridiculous display, his inner thoughts mocking the charade. He 'rolled' and cut the hand that holds his wand? Meaning he dropped his wand, lost his ability to fight, and was a spectator for the rest of the battle. The contrast with Sirius's quiet, more serious injury was stark, and the hypocrisy of Peter's self-aggrandizing claim was disgusting.
Lily, handing the now calmer Harry to James, went over to the two wounded men. She hugged both of them with genuine warmth. "Thank you, Peter, Sirius. You're both true heroes today."
Sirius managed a pained, strained grin, wincing slightly. "It's nothing, Lily. Just chased off a few scoundrels. It's a shame we couldn't keep a better tally, though. The majority retreated with their Lord, you know."
It was Augusta Longbottom, holding a pacified Neville, who brought the house down.
"That's not entirely accurate, Sirius," Augusta said, her voice dry and heavy with irony. "There are four more Death Eaters currently trussed up and awaiting transport in the basement downstairs."
A collective, stunned silence fell over the hall.
"What?"
"Four more?"
"There were Death Eaters in the safe house?"
The heroes who had been fighting outside suddenly realized the immense danger their loved ones had just faced.
James reacted most forcefully, his face draining of color. He quickly pulled Lily aside, his grip tight. "What happened? Did a Death Eater infiltrate the safe house? Are you hurt, Lily? Tell me everything!"
Augusta, thoroughly annoyed at her son Frank for his continuous, over-solicitous touching of Alice while completely ignoring his elderly mother, seized the moment to exaggerate the danger.
"You can't even tell by looking if she's hurt, you useless boy? You have no idea how deadly it was down there when those dogs found the safe room! They came with a clear intent to murder!"
Lily, realizing Augusta was about to launch into the full, terrifying detail—including the fanatic, the potion, and the near-fatal Killing Curse—quickly intervened to minimize the trauma for everyone else.
"Calm down, James," Lily said, placing a reassuring hand on his chest. "We were prepared. I used the Runic Wards, and we quickly built a barricade. And we have Anduin to thank for the tactical thinking and the quick defensive action. We took care of it as soon as they broke the protective seal. Everything is fine now."
Augusta, catching Lily's subtle warning glance, grudgingly fell silent, settling for a withering stare aimed directly at her son, Frank.
The conversation was interrupted by the heavy, uneven clunk-shuffle of Mad-Eye Moody's steps as he emerged from the basement stairs. Trailing behind him were four bodies—three Death Eaters floating bound in a tight magical web, and a fourth, solitary corpse floating with a tragic, rigid stillness.
"Hey, Lily, you'll be interested in this," Moody announced, limping toward the group, the bodies hovering silently behind him like morbid trophies. "The Death Eater I had to take down back there—the fanatic with the Dragon Blood—was your old classmate."
The hall descended back into clamor. "Someone died? Downstairs?" "Who killed him? Lily, was it you?" James demanded, his eyes wide as he looked from the corpse to his wife.
Moody let out a rare, booming laugh, full of rough triumph. "No, Potter! I had the pleasure. He was truly dangerous just now. He was juiced up on some dark garbage, trying to take them out with a final blow. He managed to cast the Killing Curse—a full, deadly one."
James froze. He looked at Harry, sleeping peacefully in his arms, then back at the floating corpse, then at his wife. The terror was overwhelming.
Moody continued, his voice sharp and compelling: "If it hadn't been for the lightning-quick reflexes of the young wizard—Anduin here—that Killing Curse would have hit your precious son, Potter. Anduin flung an unexpected, non-verbal charm that knocked the fanatic's arm up just as the spell was cast. He saved them all."
The words hung in the air—Killing Curse, precious son, saved them all. James held his breath, staring at Anduin, then back at the body of Evan Rosier, the dark wizard who had come within inches of murdering his son and his wife. He strode over to Anduin and gripped his shoulder, his eyes swimming with a mixture of fear, adrenaline, and gratitude.
Just as the emotional tension reached its breaking point, three more figures entered the damaged main hall from the front door, their entrance radiating power and political gravity.
At the front, tall and commanding, was Albus Dumbledore, his presence immediately calming the chaos with a sheer force of charisma and magic. He was flanked by two powerful Ministry officials: a dignified, composed woman in immaculate green robes, and a severe-looking middle-aged man with a thin mustache and an air of bureaucratic stiffness.
Moody immediately straightened, his tone shifting from warrior to protocol officer. "Dumbledore, Minister Barnold, and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Barty Crouch."
The assembled Order members and Aurors bowed low to the three powerful wizards.
Millicent Barnold, the Minister of Magic, surveyed the damage and the exhausted faces with slow, gentle dignity. "You all worked exceptionally hard today. This Christmas night was a decisive victory for us against the rising tide of the Death Eaters. We confirm that two Death Eaters were killed in the fighting, and one was officially arrested and secured by the Aurors."
Moody snorted, cutting across the Minister's carefully worded statement. "With all due respect, Minister, tonight's achievements extend further than that. The fighting here on the Potters' property resulted in two Death Eaters killed in total, and four Death Eaters successfully arrested and secured." He gestured toward his four floating prisoners.
Minister Barnold looked genuinely surprised, her eyes finally falling on the four floating figures behind Moody. "Four more? Were there still escapees?"
Barty Crouch, the Head of Law Enforcement, his mustache twitching with sudden professional interest, stepped forward, his eyes narrowed on the corpse. He quickly recognized the pale, lifeless face.
"Wait... that's Evan Rosier!" Crouch exclaimed, the surprise in his voice turning to cold satisfaction. Rosier was a high-profile, influential young pure-blood family scion—the kind of arrest that meant political capital for the Ministry. "Moody, you killed Evan Rosier? And the three stunned—who are they? Get them to the Department immediately for interrogation. We have a victory to announce."
The victory had been secured, not just by Dumbledore and the fighting Aurors, but by the coordinated efforts of friends and a young apprentice in a besieged basement. The official tally, however, was about to be turned into a political commodity.