HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 467

Chapter 467: Borel and Doris

Bang. Bang.
Crack.

Sean gave his wand a light flick, like shaking blood from a blade after a kill. He and Gavin stepped over the two servants who had tried to stop them and formally entered Bulstrode Manor.

In this world, the only people who could truly withstand Sean and Gavin together were probably Voldemort and Dumbledore.

Gavin was outstanding in his own right, and with his Spirit Vision, he could even hold his own against Voldemort for quite some time. Paired with Sean, the servants and wizards under Borel’s command inside Bulstrode Manor were not even enough for the two of them to warm up.

Walking into the manor, Gavin’s gaze landed on the statue in the entrance hall. His favourite Nordic valkyrie had been replaced by a different sculpture, a Greek-style nude woman missing both arms. The corner of his mouth twitched with anger. He lifted his wand and blasted the statue’s head clean off.

Then, in a low voice, he said, “Borel. I am here.”

“Father. You look to be in good condition.”

Borel, pale-faced, walked slowly down the staircase.

Sean watched him, ears twitching faintly. He tilted his head towards the right-side corridor on the second floor, where Borel had emerged. There stood Borel’s wife, Doris Flint, and his son, Marcellus Bulstrode. Both were deathly pale, staring at Sean and Gavin with terror written across their faces.

Each generation was worse than the last.

Sean turned his eyes back to Borel, then to his grandfather. He walked aside, sat down on the sofa, and quietly watched as his grandfather handled what came next.

“Father, I do not know how you survived the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse,” Borel said. “But I do know it cannot have been easy for you to come back. So why return at all? You could have gone to America, or South Africa, or even the East. You could have lived on there. Why come back?”

Hearing this, Sean understood at once. His uncle had no idea what had happened after Gavin sealed the manor. He did not know about last night’s aftermath, nor that the Ministry had already set things right, nor that Voldemort and the Death Eaters had been driven back into hiding.

With that thought, Sean suddenly raised his wand and tapped it gently to his temple. A thread of silver light was drawn out. With a small flick of his wand, the strand floated up, burst into a silver glow above the hall, and spread into a luminous screen before the eyes of Borel, Millicent, and Doris.

What appeared on it were scenes from last night, shown from Sean’s perspective. They revealed, in broad strokes, the battle and the Ministry’s reversal of the chaos.

When the images faded, the silver mist collapsed back into a thin strand and returned to Sean’s wand. Borel stared at Gavin, then at Sean, his face filled with disbelief.

“N-no… That is impossible. Impossible!”

"There is nothing impossible, Borel," Sean said quietly. "From the very start, Grandfather and I have been laying out a counterattack against Voldemort. I’ve spent years setting pieces in place, waiting for last night to unleash them all at once—and it worked. Grandfather never imagined you would sell out your own blood, sell him out, or turn your back on Grandmother after everything she did for you. But for me, it no longer matters. The tide has already turned. Whether you choose to stand with us or stab us in the back, the ending is the same."

Sean lifted his head and looked up at Doris Flint. A malicious smile spread across his face.

“Of course, it is not that there will be no consequences at all. For example, you will vanish from the wizarding world completely. And your helpers, the Flint family, will be reshuffled from top to bottom. From now on, the Flint family will belong entirely to Jennifer Flint.”

“That is impossible. You are talking nonsense!” Doris shrieked.

Sean looked at her calmly.

“If you believe it is nonsense, then fine, this can be arranged. You can go back to the Flint family and see for yourself. But do not say you were not warned. As of now, aside from Jennifer, the only legally recognised heir to the Flint name, every other Flint has been identified by the Ministry as a Death Eater. If you return, the only result will be this: you will be taken to the Ministry, tried as a Death Eater, and sent to Azkaban. That is your only destination.”

“Impossible! How could I be sent to Azkaban? Impossible, impossible! You are lying, you are deceiving me!”

Doris screamed as she drew her wand, trying to curse Sean. Marcellus still had a shred of sense and tried to grab his mother’s arm. But Doris was already half-mad. She flung her hand violently. Her long, sharp nails raked across Millicent’s face, leaving a bleeding scratch and knocking him to the floor.

At that moment, Doris could see nothing else. Wand raised, she tried to charge down the staircase to attack Sean.

But the beautiful shoes she wore, utterly unsuited for running, made her ankle twist.

She tumbled down the stairs.

Face-first.

She landed right at Borel’s feet, snapping off one and a half of her front teeth. Her right ankle broke, her foot twisted at an unnatural angle. Her right arm was trapped beneath her, the bone clearly fractured. Blood ran from her nose and mouth. She looked wretched.

Pain and humiliation erased the last of her reason. She forced her head up and screamed at Borel, who stood beside her.

“Borel! Borel, you pathetic excuse for a wizard! You spineless worm! Out of the whole Bulstrode family, you’re the runt they should have drowned at birth! I told my father not to make me marry you, I begged him! And look what you’ve done—you’ve destroyed us! Everything I built, everything the Flints gave you, wasted on a coward who can’t even raise his wand! Kill them! KILL THEM! Are you deaf as well as useless? I’m broken at your feet and you do NOTHING! You never do anything! You’re not a man, you’re a disgrace, a mistake! My father was right about you—you’re nothing but dead weight with a famous name! Worthless! Pathetic! USELESS!”

Looking down at Doris sprawled at his feet, filthy and broken yet still as overbearing as ever, Borel ignored Marcellus’s plea for him to help his mother.

He took two slow steps forward.

His face still wore that same gentle, indulgent fondness he had always shown her.

Then he kicked her in the face.

Again.

And again.

With every kick, Borel’s smile grew brighter, more radiant, until Doris finally stopped screaming and fell unconscious.

He withdrew his foot and scraped his shoe hard against the floor, rubbing the blood off as if it were something disgusting. He did not spare a glance for Marcellus, who stood there blank-faced, as though his soul had already died.

Borel turned to Gavin, who looked pained and grief-stricken, and spoke softly.

"Don't look at me like that, Father. I don't need it anymore. I've already betrayed you. There's no taking it back now.

"Kill me with your own hands.

"Or I'll kill you with mine. Again."