HP/LOTM: Visionary - 415

Chapter 415: The Second Inheritor

In Britain, in the city of Hull, a family stood packed and ready to leave. One young man lingered on the doorstep, staring back at his home for a long time.

As the situation in the European wizarding world worsened, the Becketts, a Muggle–wizard family combination now explicitly outlawed by the authorities, had no choice but to flee.

Why had they waited until things were this bad? That went back to the affair of the previous Minister for Magic.

Madam Amelia Bones, long since dead, had tried to balance the political factions once she rose to the highest office in the wizarding world. Every Minister attempted that, but she had clearly underestimated Voldemort’s resolve upon his return.

At the time, the neutral camp to which she belonged, along with the resurgent conservative faction, all believed that even if Voldemort came back, he would, as before, merely stage a few terrorist attacks. For Amelia, whose power was expanding rapidly, such incidents were nothing more than a minor rash.

So the Ministry did not immediately issue evacuation orders to ordinary witches and wizards. Instead, they turned their fire on the reformist faction.

Two months ago, Voldemort took advantage of Amelia’s indulgence and both camps’ suppression of the reformists. He led a raid on the Ministry and slaughtered the neutral faction, leaving all organised resistance there in ruins.

After that, Aiden rushed to the Ministry to pull his own people out, then clashed with Tom in the Battle of London. Their duel spawned the manifestation of Distorted Order. Aiden’s mother sacrificed her last strength to seal it, and Aiden himself entered Avalon to slumber, keeping the First Project running.

The Lestrange family, who could still read the board, issued one final evacuation warning before pulling out, only for it to be denounced as rumour at once by conservatives who had thrown in with Voldemort.

Changes at the Ministry came too fast. Ordinary witches and wizards, still dazed, had no time to react. By the time they realised which way the wind was blowing, disaster was already upon them.

Death Eaters, working hand in glove with the Ministry, carried out targeted sweeps of every Muggle-born and mixed family they could find. Large numbers of people were dragged off before they could run and thrown into cells in the newly founded Department of Blood Purity.

Now, after the defeat in Egypt, the British Region’s ability to hunt had clearly slackened. The Beckett family, who had been hidden under the Fidelius Charm, finally had to step onto the road into exile.

"I never thought it would get this bad," Renee Beckett said, her voice thick with grief.

"It will be all right. Ethan has grown. We will start over somewhere else," Bowen Beckett said, drawing his wife into his arms.

"Let’s go. While You-Know-Who’s forces are still weakened," Ethan said.

He gave the land where he had lived for seventeen years one last look, then turned away.

The three of them dared not use magic. They travelled as Muggles toward the English Channel, hoping to pay smugglers there to get them into Italy, then across the Mediterranean to Egypt.

They had overlooked one crucial thing. Once Dark wizards from the underworld took power, how could the smugglers who had always lived in the grey ever fail to choose a side?

So the Channel crossings had not stopped, but the route had become a new hunting ground. The traffickers took Galleons from desperate Muggle-borns who wanted out, then turned around and reported them to the Ministry for a bounty. Each family was squeezed twice. A win–win, for them.

When the Becketts reached the Channel, they were not greeted by a Portkey to safety on the far shore, but by a squad of Death Eaters in black uniforms.

"Good evening, Mudbloods," the leader said, baring a twisted smile at the terrified crowd below.

Green light lit the cold night.

Bowen Beckett stepped in front of his family, raising arms that were not broad, but had always been enough to shelter his wife and child, to block the oncoming curse.

"Bowen!"
"Father!"

Around Ethan’s neck, the pendant Aiden had once given him flared to life. His hunger for justice, fused with magic, broke through the boundary between illusion and reality and reached another old man. The old man glanced at Dumbledore, who was lazily chewing his way through a pile of Cockroach Clusters, then Disapparated.

Just as the curse was about to hit, a sheet of ghostly blue fire roared up, devouring the Killing Curse whole with pure destructive intent.

Within the flames, a massive dragon opened its eyes, fixing the Death Eaters with a cold stare. The heat licked at their masks.

"Good flavour. Your craving for retribution is very pure. What is your name, young man?" an old wizard asked as he stepped out of the fire.

"Ethan Beckett," Ethan said. The stranger’s odd, gentle presence made him think of his old roommate. Before he knew it, he had handed over his trust.

"This is no place to talk. And I cannot do too much, or they will notice. Come with me," the old man said.

He seized Ethan and his parents and Disapparated again.

The Fiendfyre, left without a master, roared, swallowed the Death Eaters, and then died down of its own accord. When it vanished, nothing remained but ash.

In Hogsmeade, at the Hog’s Head, the old man Apparated into the bar with his three charges. Aberforth shot him a glare, snorted, and turned his back.

He led the Becketts upstairs, into a room where a man who ought to have been dead was waiting.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Ethan stared, unable to believe his eyes.

"Mr Beckett, I am hardly a professor now. Just a useless old man in retirement," Dumbledore said with a wave.

"But, Voldemort…" Ethan began, wanting to beg him to come forth and face Voldemort again, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"As you can see, I am an old man who can scarcely lift his wand. The task of opposing him can only fall to you, young people now."

He raised his withered arm. Even Bowen could not imagine forcing such a frail figure to stand against Voldemort.

Ethan’s shoulders slumped. Ever since he had started school, Dumbledore’s light had always been there. He could not think of anyone else who might stand against Voldemort. Perhaps Aiden could, but where was he?

"Enough. Do not pin your hopes on some outside salvation. There has never been a saviour. If you cannot bear to watch what wizards are suffering, then become retribution yourself. How about that?" the old man at his side said, cutting across their exchange.

"Gellert, you mean…" Dumbledore looked at him, face suddenly solemn.

"Of course. The boy’s quality is quite good. Perhaps his roommate rubbed off on him, but he meets the bare minimum," Gellert Grindelwald said with a half-smile, regarding Ethan as if he were inspecting a piece of merchandise.