A Horcrux's Fate

Chapter 21

In the depths of the Forbidden Forest, where shadows twisted into curious shapes and secrets whispered through the leaves, a clandestine gathering took place. The moon struggled to illuminate the darkness, casting faint patterns on the ground, where gnarled roots sprawled like the fingers of sleeping giants. Amidst this eerie stillness, hooded figures loomed, their faces obscured by unsettling masks. They formed a circle interrupted only by the sound of breaking twigs and hushed murmurs, gathering for an unholy meeting orchestrated by the remnants of a defeated past.

High above, in the underbrush where trees stood as ancient sentinels, a band of centaurs watched in growing concern. Although fiercely protective of their domain, their curiosity bit at the edges of caution. What dark magic had pulled these figures to such a wicked convergence? Their stoic bodies flexed, muscles tensed and ready should trouble arise, as their eyes pinned down the masked figures with judgement that pierced the night like an arrow.

The centaurs' hearts sank as they detected a flicker of red against the backdrop of a tree. A human—bound, helpless—struggled against the tightly wrapped ropes. The sense of urgency coiled in their chests like a tightening noose. Who was this captive? And more importantly, why had the Death Eaters dared to disturb the fragile equilibrium of the forest?

Among the figures gathered, Yaxley leaned nonchalantly against a twisted trunk, the moonlight slicing through the canopy to illuminate his face—a visage marked by mischief and malice. "Time's nearly up," he declared, prompting alarm and anxiety within the bound George Weasley, kneeling at his feet, eyes aflame with defiance.

"Do you think they'll arrive as planned?" enquired a timid Death Eater, his moustache twitching like a cat's whiskers in the face of impending danger.

"Certainly, Macnair. The orders I gave were very clear," Yaxley replied, a smirk curling his lips, his gaze drifting from Macnair to Draco Malfoy. Draco, positioned at a distance, squinted into the murky shadows, his cold grey eyes slipping from figure to figure, weighing the consequences of this gathering, while an unease settled heavily at the pit of his stomach.

"Are you absolutely certain that this location is secure?" Draco finally asked, his voice laced with genuine unease that underpinned the bravado he wore as armour.

"Yes, as I mentioned earlier, we have the area well-guarded. I will be alerted if anything unexpected occurs," Yaxley drawled, his tone casual, dismissive of the visible tension that hung like smoke between them.

Draco's face remained composed, but his heart beat a warning, echoing in rhythm with the rustle of leaves stirred by a spectral breeze.

Yaxley turned back to face George, still squirming, the corners of his mouth twisting as the words swirled into sculpted taunts.

"No matter what you're planning, you won't succeed," George managed through gritted teeth, fighting against the bonds that chafed at his wrists, pinning him to the ancient bark. "You've lost, old man! You'll be caught and thrown into Azkaban soon enough!"

Yaxley's amusement vanished, replaced by a sharp focus. "Not when the beloved Potter boy is dead. It's a pity your twin passed away before witnessing that historic event. I wonder how your parents will react if they find out that their other precious son is also gone. Grief can lead people to strange behaviours, after all." His voice dripped with venomous pleasure, conjuring painful images that danced in George's mind.

"Keep my family out of this!" George shouted, his body seething with raw energy. "Let's settle this between us." The fierceness of his words ignited an intensity in him; every pulse in his veins screamed for justice, for a reckoning that could shatter the unfinished chapters of his brother's life.