[Living for Tomorrow] Chapter 14 - Revenge

A loud sound of Apparition rang as Sirius Black appeared in front of the Potter home in Pitt-Upon-Ford. Walking to the entrance door, he didn’t bother knocking; he went straight in. The house was placed under a Fidelius Charm, and, especially after the attack of the goblins, Sirius had become an extremely frequent visitor, checking up on the old Potter couple every two or three days. 

“Hello~?” he said in a loud voice, grinning as he kicked the door shut behind him. “I’ve come bearing gifts today! Front-row seats to the Puddlemere versus Magpies derby in two weeks! It’s going to be bloody brilliant!”

But, just as he left the entrance hallway and was about to announce his arrival boisterously, like he often did, a scream erupted from the living room:

“That slimy RAT got my son killed!”

Sirius froze. It was Fleamont. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard the old wizard raise his voice, let alone scream with such rage. 

Afraid of being discovered, he took out his wand and cast a Silencing Charm on his shoes to muffle the noise of his footsteps on the hardwood floor. He started walking sneakily towards the living room, but by the time he arrived there, Euphemia had already closed the door, not wanting her husband’s screams to startle the boys upstairs. 

‘Did they also cast a Silencing Charm on the door?’ Sirius wondered when he could no longer make out what was being discussed inside the room. 

Taking his wand out again, he brought its tip to his ear, and the handle enlarged like the bell of a trumpet as he eavesdropped on their conversation.  



“He’s the one who ratted out the Prophecy to the Dark Lord! It’s because of him that James and Lily were killed!” Fleamont shouted. 

Sirius’s eyes widened in disbelief. Nobody knew how the Dark Lord had gotten wind of the Prophecy. . . or at least that’s what he had thought until then.

‘They knew all along who it was?’

He was stunned. 

‘Why did they hide it from me?’

‘Why the fuck are they protecting him?’

There was a rather long pause before another voice, not belonging to either of his adoptive parents, answered: 

“Fleamont, I assure you that Severus Snape has my full confidence. He had played an important role in the previous war, and I trust him with my life. I guarantee that he will not lay a finger on your grandchildren.”

The longer he listened in on the conversation, the paler Sirius’s face became. 

“How could you bring that filthy Death Eater into the school?” Fleamont said, his voice quivering with anger. “You’re going to let him near Harry and Matthew, and you’re telling me to be calm and accept it? You want me to trust him?!”

“Severus Snape is a changed man. And I simply have no other solution,” came Dumbledore’s grave voice. “Everyone has heard the rumours of the Jinx by now. Nobody is applying for the vacancy. But if you know a better candidate for the DADA position - no, if you know any other candidates at all - I will gladly listen to you.”

“It is not my job to find professors for the school, Dumbledore. It is yours,” Fleamont growled. “You are the Headmaster. But if you think that is beyond your capabilities, ask for the Ministry to send one of their people.” 

“The day I let the Ministry meddle with Hogwarts is the day I retire,” Dumbledore retorted evenly. 

“Then maybe you should retire!” Euphemia spat sharply. “Maybe it’s about time that you gave your position to someone who actually cares about their job. It wasn’t enough that the Dark Lord possessed one of your teachers and tried to kill Matthew in his first year, but now you’re bringing an actual Death Eater into the school?”

“Don’t force our hand, Dumbledore, or we will pull the boys out of Hogwarts,” Fleamont threatened. 

Dumbledore and the Governors of Hogwarts had already had a meeting concerning Severus Snape’s candidacy, and most of them, with Lucius Malfoy at the forefront, had voted in favour of accepting him as the new DADA professor. Fleamont’s vote alone had not been enough to dissuade the others. 

Nevertheless, as the legal guardian and grandfather of the Boy Who Lived, his influence spread beyond his position as a Hogwarts Governor. He had other ways of making things very difficult for Dumbledore, hence why the old headmaster had contacted him now via a Floo call in order to come to an agreement before things escalated beyond control. 

“I am absolutely sure that Beauxbatons will be more than happy to receive them,” Euphemia went on. “Harry already speaks and understands French fluently. And Matt is a smart boy, too; he will pick it up in no time. The French Ministry would likely even hire a translator for him, if need be.”

Fleamont also added to his wife’s words: 

“I’m very curious to see what the Ministry and the Daily Prophet will have to say about the Boy Who Lived going to study in France, of all places, instead of Scotland. It will be even more entertaining if the truth about Snape’s deeds comes to light after that.”

Sirius did not stay to hear the end of the conversation. His great mood from before seemingly forgotten, he looked livid as he headed back to the entrance door, leaving without a sound. 

⁂ Three days later ⁂

“Aw, man, why couldn’t we go with them to Egypt, too?” Matthew said as he looked at a photo of the Weasley family on top of the tallest pyramid of Giza. The redheads were all wearing funny hats or sunglasses and smiling brightly at the camera.

Having won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw, Arthur and Molly Weasley decided to go visit their eldest child, Bill, in Egypt. Other than Charles, who was in Romania, they took the entire family and travelled to Egypt, where they were going to spend an entire month touring the country’s both Muggle and Wizarding tourist attractions. 

“The goblins have a strong presence around the pyramids. It was only a few months ago that they tried to kill us,” Harry explained in a fed-up voice. 

“I know, I know. . .”

“Then why do you keep asking?” Harry said in annoyance. It had to be the fifth or sixth time his younger brother had whined about that. 

Matthew put the letter and the photos on the desk and threw himself on Harry’s bed. Nearly two minutes passed like that, with the ginger staring at the ceiling silently, before he broke the silence again and asked:

“What are you reading?”

Harry raised his eyes from his book and glared at Matthew. 

“Alchemy,” he said curtly.

“Borrring.”

The older boy felt his pulse rising by the second. Exhaling loudly, he lowered his eyes to his book again, deciding to ignore Matthew. 

“Why do you even care about that stuff? I thought you only cared about fighting,” said Matt. 

“I already mastered most of the Charms, Hexes, and Curses that could be useful in a duel,” Harry replied. “Now it’s just a matter of practising them in combat. But I can’t fight by myself now, can I? I need Sirius’s help. But he can’t be here 24/7, so I have to fill my time with something else.”

It was not as simple as he made it out to be. Harry’s decision to start studying Alchemy was not just for the sake of passing the time. However, if he spoke in detail about the reason why he was interested in Alchemy, Matt would definitely use that opportunity to drag him into a session of useless chatter that wouldn’t end for at least half an hour. 

Several minutes passed in silence, and Harry inwardly hoped that Matt was finally going to shut up for good. Alas, he had celebrated a little too early. 

“Say, Harry,” the ginger began, only for Harry to explode at him. 

“WHAT do you want this time?!” 

He had long since reached the limits of his patience. 

“Why do you keep pestering me? Go do something with your time! Bloody hell, mate, have you got nothing better to do? Read a book, practise your spellwork, play some chess, or just go in the garden and beat up some gnomes.”

His younger brother had been bothering him like that since the beginning of the holiday, often coming to his room to hang out. 

In the past, Harry used to lock and soundproof his room with spells to prevent such incidents, but ever since his grandparents nearly died, he decided to spend more time with his family. One never knew when it was going to be their last day. 

However, there was a limit to his tolerance. This summer, in particular, Matthew had become downright obnoxious. 

“I’m just bored!” the ginger whined. “Ron and the twins went to Egypt, Hermione is in France, and Dean and Seamus live in the Muggle world, so I can’t really visit them. I can’t even go and play with the rest of the guys in the village or fly with my broom alone because of the damn goblins. There’s just nothing to do!”

Due to fearing that the goblins might try to ambush them again, Fleamont and Euphemia did not allow Matthew to go out and play without Harry’s or an adult’s protection.  

Putting his book down, Harry took off his round glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Fine. Let’s go for a fly.”

“Really??” Matt exclaimed, jumping up from the bed instantly. 

Hearing how excited he was, Harry felt pity for him. Although they were siblings, the two of them had different temperaments. Unlike him, who was used to being holed up in his room and studying or hanging around his grandparents, Matthew was a social butterfly. The redhead loved spending his time with his friends and going out. Having to stay locked inside their house the entire summer holiday was like torture for him. 

“Yes, really,” Harry said, sighing inwardly. “Now go get your broom before I change my mind.”

⁂

“Gran, I’m heading out with Matt for an hour or so,” Harry called out to his grandmother, who was in the midst of reading a rather heavy and large book on Restoration Potions. Contrary to what the name might imply, those potions were used not for healing but for reverting the effects of various spells on people or creatures.

“Take care of your younger brother, okay?” Euphemia said, smiling when she saw her two grandsons wearing Quidditch goggles and holding their Nimbus 2000 broomsticks in their hands. 

Her trust in Harry could not have been any higher. Not only had Harry saved Matt from Quirrell the previous year, but he had also saved her and Fleamont’s lives from the goblins a few months ago. 

“Of course,” he answered, nodding seriously. 

“And you listen to your older brother too, Matthew.”

“Yes, Grandma,” Matthew replied as well. 

Just as they were about to turn and leave, however, a large, chestnut-feathered owl landed on the living room’s windowsill and hopped inside through the open window. One flutter of wings later, the owl landed right on the low coffee table and hooted in Harry’s and Matthew’s direction. 

“The OWLs are here!” Harry exclaimed. 

“But I only see one-”

“Don’t be a smart aleck,” Harry said and pressed Matthew’s head down while he was snickering. 

Euphemia also stood up from her armchair and rushed at the owl to untie the letter it was carrying. 

The old lady opened the envelope with trembling fingers, and Harry and Matt ran to her side too, looking over her shoulders at the contents of the letter. 

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Pass Grades:    
Outstanding (O)
Exceeding Expectations (E)    
Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)

Harry James Potter has achieved:

Ancient Runes: E
Astronomy: D
Care for Magical Creatures: A
Charms: O
Defence Against the Dark Arts: O
Herbology: E
History of Magic: T
Potions: O
Transfiguration: O

“Merlin’s balls, you got 4 Os?!” Matt cursed in amazement. 

Had it been any other time, his grandmother would have scolded him right away for his language, but at that moment, the old lady was staring at the piece of paper in her hands with a look of wonder on her face.

Leaving the letter in Matt’s hands, Euphemia turned toward Harry and pulled him into a tight hug. When she let go, she cupped his face and laughed with a mix of happiness and surprise.

“Four Os! Seven OWLs!” she said in admiration. “Fleamont, dear!” she called out brightly.

When he didn’t answer right away, she let go of Harry, took out her wand and pressed it to the side of her neck before casting a nonverbal Sonorous Charm.

“Fleamont! Come quickly! The OWL results just arrived!”

Less than a minute later, the tall old man rushed into the living room. He was wearing a dirty set of green clothes, and he stank of dragon dung, but he quickly snatched the letter from Matt’s hands to see it for himself. Half a minute later, he started laughing too. 

“You rascal, when Matt told me you weren’t studying, I was so worried you would do poorly in the OWLs. Look at you: 7 OWLs, of which 4 were Os!”

“You were snitching on me?!” Harry turned to his brother in disbelief.

“No! I didn’t!” the ginger answered quickly in a panic, his hazel eyes becoming the size of saucers. “I only told them that we played a game of Quidditch together! I swear!”

Before Harry could say anything else, the old man threw an arm over his shoulders and started shaking him with joy. Despite his age, Fleamont had yet to lose all his vigour. He shook the boy until he was dizzy. 

“Ah, Grandpa, you stink like hell, let me go!”

Euphemia laughed in delight at the two of them. 

“Os in Transfiguration, Defence, Charms, and Potions! Merlin, you gave me such a surprise!” Euphemia kept saying and snatched the letter from her husband’s hands to check the results again; it was as if she still couldn’t believe her eyes. 

Harry chuckled helplessly. He couldn’t blame them for their reaction. While his grandparents knew that he was a capable wizard, especially when it came to potion making and duelling, his grades in school did not reflect that. His grades couldn’t be any more average. 

But the two of them had never pressured him to do better. Aware of the trauma that Voldemort had left on his psyche and knowing that Harry had never forgotten the memory of his mother being murdered, the old couple had always had a soft spot for him. 

“What brought this about?” Fleamont asked, still grinning widely. 

“I just wanted to make you proud,” Harry said, scratching his cheek and looking to the side in embarrassment. “And I was also thinking about applying for the Alchemy class next year.”

“Well, you did make us proud. Four Os! I’m going to brag about you to all my friends!” Felamont chuckled merrily. 

“Alchemy?” Euphemia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Are you sure? It is a very challenging subject.”

Harry nodded resolutely. “Yes, I’ve thought about it for months now. I heard Dumbledore is one of the best alchemists in the world and that Hogwarts offers Alchemy classes in the 6th and 7th years if there are enough people interested.”

Mr and Mrs Potter glanced at each other meaningfully. They had not told their grandsons that they might be forced to pull them out of Hogwarts. It was only the middle of July. There was still some time left until September. They were hoping that they would manage to change Dumbledore’s mind about hiring Severus Snape before that. 

“Will you have enough time?” Fleamont asked. “NEWT classes are far more difficult than what you studied in the first five years.”

“I’m going to drop Astronomy, History, and Creatures next year,” he replied. “Astronomy and History are useless for my field, and I’ve learnt all there is to know about Creatures. I might drop Ancient Runes too, depending on what Dumbledore suggests.”

“If you’re so good with creatures, then why did you get an A at OWL?” Matt asked with a laugh.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. 

“I couldn’t care less about what Unicorns like to eat or the proper way to brush puffskeins. I know how to deal with the dangerous creatures. That’s all I need.”

“Whatever you decide to do, we will support your decision,” Euphemia said, smiling. 

“Thank you, Gran.”

⁂

One week had passed since the OWL results arrived, and Harry, Matthew, and the two old Potters were sitting together in the middle of a roaring crowd on a hot day in late July, watching a Quidditch match.

They weren’t alone. Sirius sat beside them, and four Aurors were stationed nearby. One was in front, one behind, and the other two were on their left and right, watching the crowd with great attention. After all, they had been tasked with protecting the Boy Who Lived and his family. 

It was rare these days for the Potters to go out in public. After the vicious goblin attack on Pit-Upon-Ford back in February, the Ministry could not afford to risk their safety again. Matthew Potter was too important for Great Britain. 

Quidditch crowds were wild by nature, and with the added fear of a second goblin attack, letting the Potters attend without strong protection would have been too dangerous.

The game between Puddlemere United and Montrose Magpies was every bit as violent and exciting as Sirius had promised them it would be. There were only two weeks left of the Quidditch season, and, currently, those two teams were ranked number one and number two, respectively. Puddlemere and Magpies were heads and shoulders above the rest of the teams in the League in terms of points that year, but they were extremely close to each other. 

In other words, it would not be wrong to think of this Quidditch match as the Final, the match that would decide the winner of the British and Irish Quidditch League. 

Puddlemere United was a team from the southern coast of Great Britain, while Montrose Magpies were Scottish. Seeing as Pitt-Upon-Ford was located in Northern Scotland, Sirius and the Potters wore Montrose Magpies scarves and hats, cheering for them. 

While Euphemia was keeping a composed and classy appearance, as befitting of the Lady of an old, pureblood family, her husband and her youngest grandson were roaring expletives and booing like a bunch of sailors every time Puddlemere scored or committed a foul and screaming and cheering every time the Magpies scored.

Harry himself may not have been as fanatical as Matthew and Fleamont, but he was a fan of Quidditch too, and the atmosphere in the stadium was electrifying. 

For that match in particular, Matt had acquired a pair of vuvuzelas from Dean Thomas, his Muggle-raised friend. They were plastic trumpets of sorts that let out an infernal noise every time they blew them. Matt and Harry were blowing those hellish instruments every 10 seconds or so. It was to the point where the people around them had to cast a spell to muffle their own hearing lest they go deaf. 

Absorbed by the match as they were, none of the Potters had noticed how unnaturally quiet and subdued Sirius had been that day, even now, while he was watching the game. 

“Aunty, I’m heading out to buy some drinks,” Sirius shouted as he stood up. 

“I can’t hear you,” Euphemia shouted back, her voice barely audible over the crazy roars of the crowd and the deafening noise made by Harry and Matthew’s vuvuzelas. 

He laughed a bit and gestured in a funny manner that he was going to buy drinks and snacks. Once she nodded to confirm she understood, he left. 

Walking out of the stands, Sirius Black appeared to be heading towards the vendors at the entrance of the Quidditch stadium. . . but he did not stop there. He left the stadium’s premises entirely, passing through the gates. 

Once he was out, he ducked into a side alley, and, after checking out and making sure there was nobody around, he pulled a necklace out of his robes. It was a rather peculiar, spherical necklace with a small hourglass inside it. 

⁂

One hour before the start of the Quidditch match in Montrose between the Magpies and Puddlemere, a man with short brown hair and tan skin appeared out of thin air on the other side of the country. He wore a grey paddy cap, black trousers with large, baggy pockets, a grey shirt, and a neon green reflective vest, and he carried a large brown duffle bag. The place he arrived in was a dirty, abandoned street somewhere in the Midlands of England.

Two drunkards who happened to be nearby wobbled towards that little street to check the source of the noise, but then a thin stick slipped out from the man's sleeve into his palm, and he aimed it at them. He was a wizard. As he cast a nonverbal Confundus Charm on them, their eyes glazed over for a brief moment before they scratched their heads, shrugged their shoulders, and turned back the way they came from.

It was a sweltering day in July, and the concrete streets and brick homes with no green spaces anywhere in sight made it even worse. The man cast a Cooling Charm on himself, zipped up his vest, took out a clipboard and a pen from his bag, and stepped out of the alley.

He was in Cokeworth, an industrial, dingy town not far from Birmingham. It was the type of town that any person dreamed of leaving as soon as they could afford to. Drunkards, hoodlums, homeless people, and druggies could be seen all over the place, and most of the houses had iron bars on their windows and even on their doors.

"Fitting place for a dirty rat," he muttered in a voice filled with vitriol as he walked down the narrow street.

He schooled his face into a bored, impassive expression and adjusted his grey paddy cap before increasing his walking pace.

Five minutes later, he ducked into a street that looked even worse than the previous scenery. A rusty tin plaque barely hanging from one end onto the pole read "Spinner's End".

All houses on that street looked identical with their brick facades and tiny windows, but, eventually, that brown-haired man stopped in front of a particular door.

'Creepy bastard,' he thought when he saw the flickering light of candles through the dirty, stained curtains half covering the windows.

Nonetheless, his face showed none of what he felt inside. Walking in front of the door, he put down his duffle bag, held his clipboard and pen in one hand, and knocked on the door with the other.

The sound of a squeaky floor could be heard from inside as someone walked to the door and opened it slightly, revealing a long, pale, yellowy face and a curtain of greasy black hair. He was none other than Severus Snape.

"Who is it and what do you want?" the occupant of the house asked rudely through the crack in the door.

"Good afternoon. My name is Jack Willow. I'm from pest control."

"You're at the wrong address. I didn't call for any pest control," Snape sneered at him.

"The city hall sent me. But if you're certain you don't need our services, I just need your signature here, and I'll be out of your way."

Irritation flashed briefly on Snape's face. For a moment, it looked like he was debating whether to take out his wand and magically shoo him away or sign the paper like a normal Muggle would.

In the end, he reasoned that if he shooed this man away, the city hall would just send another guy, so he wouldn't be solving anything.

Letting out a loud sigh, he opened the door fully and said:

"Let me see what you want my signature for."

He snatched the clipboard from the Muggle's hands and glanced at it for a few seconds.

"What is this gibberi-" Snape began to say after seeing the papers were filled with meaningless stuff.

But he didn't get to finish his words because a Banishing Charm blasted him inside the house, seemingly out of nowhere.

The brown-haired man grabbed his duffle bag off the floor and walked inside the house calmly, as if he hadn't just violently bodied someone a second ago, then closed the door behind him.

Caught unprepared, the Banishing Spell had slammed Snape into the wall so brutally that he was almost knocked out cold. Barely holding onto his consciousness, he fumbled for his wand in panic, but a ferocious soccer kick in the ribs made him curl up on the floor like a worm, his mouth open in a soundless scream.

It was a perfect liver shot. It was as if his body had shut down. He was paralysed, his body unresponsive. He couldn't even breathe for nearly half a minute.

By the time he finally regained clarity of mind, Snape found himself on the floor, with the 'Muggle' from 'pest control' standing over him, his face twisted by rage.

"I should've killed you, Death Eater trash, back when we were in school," the man muttered darkly as he took out a large knife from his duffle bag.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Snape asked as he crawled back in fear at the sight of the man walking towards him with the large knife.

"Don't bother looking for your wand, Snivelus," he spat when he saw Snape patting himself all over in search of his wand. "You won't find it."

Eyes widening, the former Death Eater hissed through gritted teeth:

"Sirius Black!"

At that moment, Sirius would have liked nothing more than to drop the Transfiguration spells he had cast on himself, but he knew better than to give in to his impulses. He had just barely dodged Azkaban after he tortured Pettigrew to death a decade ago. He knew that some Tracking Spells could summon phantoms and images of the past, so he didn't risk it.

Raising his wand, he also cast a Full-Body Binding Curse on Snape, paralysing him completely.

"To think that Dumbledore had been hiding the truth about you this entire time. To think that not only he'd keep human garbage like you around but that he'd even try bringing you to Hogwarts."

"A fucking Death Eater teaching students? The rat who got James and Lily murdered becoming Harry and Matthew's professor?"

"What a bad joke."

The more he spoke, the more furious he became. His jaw muscles were bulging from how hard he was grinding his teeth.

"Don't worry; I won't torture you like I did to that other rat 12 years ago. I'll give you a clean death," Sirius said as he crouched next to Snape.

Having already experienced the consequences of abusing the Cruciatus Curse when he brutalised Peter Pettigrew, Sirius had sworn to himself that he would never do something like that ever again. He did not want to end up like his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, who had become mad, addicted to inflicting pain on others.

For the sake of Fleamont and Euphemia, and for the sake of Harry and Matthew, he could not let himself go down a dark path. He would not descend into madness just for the sake of revenge. His family needed him, especially Harry, who was still bearing the burden and the trauma of having witnessed his mother being murdered in front of his eyes when he was a young child.

Gripping the large knife tightly in his hand, he stared straight into Snape's beady black eyes as he stabbed him in the gut with all his strength.

"This is for Lily," he said, his voice filled with cold fury.

Paralysed as he was by the curse, Snape couldn't even scream. Pulling his knife out, Sirius stabbed him once again, this time in the heart.

"And this is for James."

He watched him unblinkingly as life trickled out of Snape's eyes. It was only after he was completely sure that he was dead that he let go of his corpse and stood up.

Glancing around himself, he waved his wand and ransacked the place, summoning any valuables he laid his eyes on. He didn't need any of Snape's belongings. This was all for the sake of the Muggle police, in order to make it look as though it was a robbery.

Finished with that, he cast a Cleaning Charm on himself to remove the blood that splashed all over his clothes. Then, he grabbed his duffle bag, fixed his grey paddy cap, and walked out of the door calmly, as though he had not just killed someone in cold blood.

Still, he was not done. Not yet. He headed to the closest telephone box and called the Muggle police, reporting the incident while posing as a random passer-by who just happened to hear a man's dying screams.

'The police will be here in 10-15 minutes tops. With them contaminating the crime scene, even if the Aurors were to come and investigate the murder after that, their tracking charms would not pick up anything,' Sirius thought as he left the telephone box and headed to a side alley.

Thankfully, unlike London or other large cities, Cokeworth wasn't infested with CCTV cameras at every step.

Once he was out of sight, he Disapparated.

⁂

A few moments later, still bearing the same disguise, Sirius Apparated in London, straight inside a studio apartment that he had rented for the month specifically for the sake of this operation.

The apartment wasn't empty. Someone had been waiting for him there. It was a tall man with shaggy brown hair, an unkempt beard, and a bloated face.

"Here's the time-turner," Sirius said as he handed him back the precious artefact. "Put it back where you took it from."

"Yes, sir," the man replied respectfully.

"Now stand up and turn around," Sirius ordered, and the man obeyed without question. He aimed his wand at him and said, "Obliviate."

Throughout the entire process, the man never moved or tried to resist. He was under the effect of the Imperius Curse.

"You said there was a Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries, didn't you? Anyone who touches it dies, right?"

"Yes," the man replied, still not turning around.

"Good. You know what to do."

At those words, the man Disapparated.

Twelve years ago, Igor Karkaroff had revealed Augustus Rookwood's identity as a Death Eater to the Ministry of Magic, desperate to avoid a life sentence in Azkaban.

Rookwood, however, had claimed that he had acted under the Imperius Curse and, like Lucius Malfoy and several other Death Eaters, he had managed to walk away free. Not just that, he had even kept his post as an Unspeakable.

The man who had once used the Imperius Curse as an excuse to escape justice was now truly under its effect, on his way to commit suicide by throwing himself into the Veil of Death.