Karkaroff, standing to the side, was far less composed. His face twisted in anger as he snapped, "So that's it? You never intended to go into exile with us, did you? You were planning to stay here and keep living as your rich, entitled self while fooling us into running like cowards. You're a traitor!" His outburst only solidified Karkaroff's determination to switch sides.
Meanwhile, Torquil felt his world collapsing. Just yesterday, he'd been the carefree nobleman of the Travers family, confident in his plans. If he could trick these Death Eaters into going abroad, he'd be a hero if the Dark Lord ever returned. If not, those Death Eaters would still expand the family's power overseas, becoming pawns to secure his future wealth and influence.
But now? With Alex unearthing the family's deepest secrets, he was ruined. If these revelations got out, he'd be branded the Travers family's greatest failure. Alex didn't care about Torquil's inner turmoil. His focus was on the key—and its potential value.
Keeping the key for himself wasn't an option. One key alone wouldn't unlock the vault's contents, and the secrets tied to it were worth far more. Holding onto them would only make him a target for powerful enemies. A Muggle-born wizard threatening pure-blood families and Ministry elites? That was a death sentence.
Leaking the information outright wasn't viable either. It would make too many enemies and accomplish nothing except mutual destruction. Alex hated trouble, and he certainly wasn't about to go looking for it. That left one logical option: leverage.
Giving the key and the information to someone like Dumbledore or Millicent Bagnold could work. Millicent, with her shrewd political mind, wouldn't hesitate to reward him. Dumbledore might even present him with an Order of Merlin for "special contributions." But Alex scoffed at the thought. "What good are medals? You can't eat them, and they're worthless for research."
Several ideas raced through his mind. Each one was carefully weighed, analyzed, and discarded until a grin spread across his face. 'Perfect.'
His gaze landed on Torquil, who sat slumped and broken, his will to fight extinguished. "Oh, this plan is very feasible," Alex mused, his grin turning sinister. "But it does require you, Torquil. Consider it your sacrifice for the greater good."
Alex pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. He needed to act quickly. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved another pill—similar to the one he'd given Karkaroff, though subtly different. Without hesitation, he pried Torquil's mouth open and forced the pill down his throat.
Satisfied, Alex turned to Karkaroff. "You'll need to cooperate with me for what's coming next. Come here."
Karkaroff hesitated but leaned in. Alex whispered his plan, his words measured and deliberate. Karkaroff's face turned pale. "Master, if we do this, the Ministry will punish me too—"
Alex's expression darkened. "Why are you panicking? Just follow my lead, and they'll let you go. Or are you still clinging to loyalty for those Death Eaters? Do you really care about them?"
"No, no, no." Karkaroff shook his head repeatedly, his voice trembling with denial. "I have no sympathy for them, but... is this really reliable? If they interrogate those Death Eaters, won't it be—"
"Relax," Alex interrupted with a cold sneer. "Except for Torquil, whose brain is protected by a charm, I've already altered the short-term memories of the others. They won't remember enough to cause trouble during an interrogation. As for Torquil…" Alex's smirk deepened. "I've got leverage on his family. Do you think he'd dare to speak out? And even if he tried, who would believe him?"
Alex didn't bother addressing Karkaroff's anxious expression any further. Instead, he calmly issued orders to pack up the test equipment and materials scattered around the room. His efficiency was unshaken by the chaos around them.
Karkaroff, although visibly reluctant, followed Alex's next command: to clean the second floor thoroughly. After a long night of chaos, the hall was a disgusting mess of blood, sweat, and urine. The stench was unbearable, but Karkaroff completed the task without complaint.
Meanwhile, Alex attended to the wounds and mess left on the Death Eaters themselves. This time, instead of unleashing using more violent method like using the hammer, Alex opted for Vulnera Sanentur. He didn't want to risk driving the prisoners insane—at least not yet.
After about ten minutes of work, the Death Eaters, including Karkaroff, were clean and presentable once more. Even the holes in their clothes—caused by the measuring instruments—were neatly repaired. The timing was perfect, coinciding with Alex's prior arrangement with Tailwind.
Before they left, Alex summoned his silver snake to siphon off a significant portion of the Death Eaters' magic, leaving them weaker but alive. With a Disillusionment Charm, he concealed himself and the group, leading them silently out through the window.
Early Morning, In the Auror Command office of the British Ministry of Magic, Alastor Moody yawned as he adjusted his robes, preparing to start another day of work. His reputation as a relentless workaholic preceded him. Living in his office wasn't just common—it was expected. Moody thrived on his work, using his considerable authority to deal with Death Eaters and dark wizards in ways others wouldn't dare.
After wolfing down a few bites of dry bread, he was about to visit the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes to check if any high-level magic activity had been missed overnight. Before he could leave, a large owl swooped into his office, dropping an envelope into his hands. 'An owl? Moody frowned. Didn't the Ministry switch to enchanted paper airplanes for correspondence?'
Moody tore open the brown envelope and scanned the letter. He only needed to read a few lines before his expression turned grave. Wasting no time, Moody grabbed his staff and stormed into the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He kicked the office door open, startling the staff inside.
"What's wrong, Mr. Moody?" one of the on-duty workers asked nervously. Everyone knew better than to get on Moody's bad side—even his fellow Aurors feared him.
"Check the records! Was there a high-energy magical event near Regent's Park in London recently?" Moody barked, his tone sharp and demanding.
The staff scrambled to check, their hands trembling slightly. "Yes, sir," one of them reported hesitantly. "There was a XXXX-level magic surge recorded not long ago…"
"Why wasn't this reported immediately?" Moody roared, slamming his prosthetic foot against the floor. "Are you all slacking off? I'll make sure your boss hears about this!"
The staff member tried to stammer out an excuse, but Moody was already issuing orders. "Alert all Aurors to return to duty at once! Send the Strike Team directly to Regent's Park, and mobilize the Reversal Squad from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. I want everyone there immediately!"
Within moments, dozens of enchanted paper airplanes zipped out of the office, carrying Moody's orders across the Ministry. Moody left the Ministry in a hurry, Apparating directly to Regent's Park. The park was eerily quiet in the early morning, devoid of Muggle activity. However, the scene that greeted Moody was far from serene. The ground was littered with craters of varying sizes, and the trees were either scorched or toppled over. The destruction was unmistakable—an intense battle had taken place here.
Surveying the area, Moody could see traces of powerful spells everywhere: scorch marks from Incendio, deep gouges from Cutting Curse, frozen debris from Freezing Charm, and a crater the unmistakable aftermath of a Confringo.
As he moved cautiously through the battlefield, Moody's magical eye scanned the area for signs of life. Suddenly, his gaze locked onto something. "Alex?" he called out, his voice steady but firm.