Cast Aside

Untitled Part 41

Chapter 41

Ultimately, they decided not to destroy the evidence of their crime with magic fire. Once the radiation had been disposed of and the river of bodily fluids banished from beneath the corpses, Snape had been correct. It did look like some horrific dark spell gone awry.

There was enough lingering dark magic on the property, in the manor itself, thanks to the Dark Lord having been in residence and the Malfoy family's historic predilections, that assuming some uncontrolled new spell would be natural. They had still considered Fiendfyre just to be safe, but Snape wondered what would happen if no one could identify the bodies. If it could not be proven that the Dark Lord was dead, there was no doubt that Dumbledore would continue waging his private war.

An otter patronus met George at the edge of the property while he waited for Ambrosi to remove their additions to the wards. It didn't say anything. It didn't need to. She floated around him for a moment, coming to stop in front of his face, pressing its cool head against his forehead. George knew what she needed.

"I'm going back. Do you need me for anything else here, Ambrosi?"

Watching the otter dissipate, Ambrosi shook his head. "No."

Taking a calming breath and preparing himself, George apparated.

When he arrived, he noted James Potter, still tied and unconscious where he had left him. Good. He didn't have time to deal with that yet.

Hermione was waiting for him just outside the tent. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, eyes downcast and filled with tears.

"I'm here, Love."

She looked up, her face contracting with grief when she saw him. A tear slipped free that she quickly dashed. "George, he..." She gestured vaguely behind herself as he approached her. "He's asking for you. Fab—" Her voice broke as he took her in his arms but she managed to hold it together. "Fabian wants to talk to you."

There was a violent storm of emotion beating his chest and strangling his voice. He couldn't say anything. There was nothing that he could say. No comforting words would change what had happened. He settled for holding her close, breathing her in, taking all the comfort he could from her.

She reached up and kissed his cheek. "I love you." Then she was pulling away from him so he could go inside.

The tent somehow seemed dim in spite of the darkness outside and the air was close.

Gideon stood in the middle of the room, facing away from his brother's sick bed. His posture was rigid but what George could see of his face looked slack. When he did not acknowledge his presence, George turned away from him, taking his seat beside his dying uncle.

He didn't look any different than he had when George had seen him earlier, but for his open eyes. Those eyes, that had always seemed somehow familiar to George, were wet and unfocused. The camp chair protested his weight and the sound drew their attention. Recognition flickered across his uncle's pallid face.

"George. Did you see? The manor..."

"Yes."

Fabian wheezed a wet breath. "What did we do, George? What right did we have?"

George blinked burning eyes. "What right did Voldemort and his Death Eaters have to butcher muggles and muggleborns?"

"It doesn't make it right."

"Fewer people died in that ballroom then he would have killed in both wars had he been allowed to continue, Fab." George shook his head. "Everyone there would have cheered him on."