Thirteen years after The Battle of Hogwarts, two wizarding children are about to embark on their own adventure. They both have been lied to their entire lives, one to protect her from the wrath of the wizarding world, and the other to protect him fr...
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Messers. Moody, Spitfire, and Sprat
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Belladonna Black and the Book of Necromancy
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Audiobook https://youtu.be/rwrZkvgw0Yw
The cloaked man limped hurriedly through the tall dark trees, tripping over their roots as he cursed the little witch whose jinx had seared his leg. Exhausted, Yaxley leaned against the tree as he once again tried to disapparate. "Still inside the grounds," the wizard muttered under his breath as he once again began to limp another one hundred meters before repeating the procedure.
Through his cursing Yaxley suddenly heard the distant sound of pursuit — snapping twigs and the shouting of young voices. Yaxley broke into a desperate shuffling run. He was the only one of the inner circle who had not been on the front lines earlier that night—the only one likely to escape, certainly with his freedom, and perhaps with his life. If he did not escape the Hogwarts grounds, all that was not already lost would be gone. The sounds of those cursed students told Yaxley that they were taking two long steps to each of his short tortured ones. Yaxley would fight if he must, but it was better to run. Someone had to reach the girl before the Ministry found her, and he was the only one left. Just as Yaxley thought that he had somehow lost his way, he felt a sensation like passing through a single sheet of mist and Yaxley let out a soft sigh of relief. He was free.
Long before his pursuers could ever have seen him, Yaxley disapparated hundreds of kilometers away into a small side alley off a busy London street. The smell of dank air assaulted his nose, as small creatures scurried away from the intruder. The alley that was usually lifeless tonight held a sleeping beggar who had been awakened by the sharp crack of Yaxley's arrival. The small old man wrapped in a ragged blanket blinked blearily at the strange sight before him. A man in a long black cloak with a silver mask hanging from his belt. Even more disturbing was the hole in his leg that was seeping blood. But most disturbing of all to the beggar, though he could not have explained why, was the polished black stick that was currently being brandished at his face.
Yaxley was as startled by the beggar in the alley as the beggar was by Yaxley. "Bloody Hell!" he exclaimed as he hastily trained his wand on the old muggle's face. Usually, the Death Eater would have just ignored both the complex orders of the Dark Lord and the muggle in the alley, but tonight of all nights protocol must be followed. No evidence can be left behind of my passage, thought Yaxley.
