Chapter 220: damage control
*narrator pov*
The Aurors returned to the Ministry under the low hum of magical transport, their faces drawn, their robes wet from the rain, and the air heavy with the smell of burnt wood. The captured Death Eaters were bound in magical restraints, their wands confiscated and tucked away by the team, ensuring they posed no further threat. As they entered the Ministry's lower levels, the cold stone walls of the Auror Office seemed especially chilling.
The Death Eaters, some unconscious, others groaning in defeat, were led down a dark corridor by two grim-faced hit wizards. The doors to the interrogation wing loomed ahead, solid black with shimmering silver runes. Each door opened with a heavy clunk, and one by one, the Death Eaters were placed inside separate interrogation rooms. The rooms were stark and intimidating, with enchanted chains on the walls, dim lighting, and chairs facing tables that would soon hold files and wands to be examined as evidence. The sharp sound of the doors closing echoed through the wing.
Greaves watched silently as his team secured the prisoners. The adrenaline had long since faded, replaced by the weight of what had transpired. His eyes met those of Auror Daniels, who nodded before stepping away to handle the paperwork, his face a mask of quiet exhaustion. The hit wizards stood nearby, their job now done, watching as the Aurors finished the final steps of containment.
Once the prisoners were secured, Greaves led his core team upstairs to the debriefing chamber, where the Head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour, awaited them. The room was spartan, save for a wide oak desk covered in reports, maps, and dark detectors still faintly humming with the traces of the dark magic they had encountered. Scrimgeour, with his lion-like mane of hair and piercing gaze, stood as the team entered, his stern expression betraying nothing as he surveyed the group.
"Report," Scrimgeour said, his voice deep and gravelly, cutting through the thick silence.
Greaves, standing at attention with his team behind him, stepped forward. His face bore the marks of the raid—dirt streaked across his jaw, a bruise forming near his temple—but he kept his posture straight, professional.
"We breached the manor under cover of the storm," Greaves began, his tone steady but weary. "The hit wizards helped us create a tunnel through the wardstones, allowing us to enter undetected. Once inside, we split into two teams. We located the terrorists in the main foyer, caught them off guard, and initiated a raid formation. For the first few moments, we had the upper hand."
Scrimgeour crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "But?"
"Their leader conjured a flame barrier, I wasn't familiar with the spell before tonight. forced us back. That's when the real fighting started. One of the Death Eaters—experienced—put up heavy resistance. We lost control of the field for a few minutes, but we managed to take down their defenses and pushed them out of the room. During the fighting, I had to engage one of them outside."
Greaves paused, his memory replaying the brutal duel in the rain-soaked garden. "We dueled across the grounds. He attempted to flee, but I pursued. After an Apparition chase, I managed to take care of him near the courtyard. The others were secured inside, but the entire manor sustained heavy damage."
Scrimgeour's gaze shifted to the other Aurors, taking in their exhausted faces. "Any injuries?"
"Minor," Greaves replied, "Auror Collins was hit with a Confringo, but he's been stabilized. The hit wizards are unharmed save for a few gashes."
Scrimgeour gave a slow nod, his jaw tight. He walked to the edge of his desk, staring down at the reports scattered across it, his fingers brushing over a folder labeled "terrorist sightings."
"Did you recover any intelligence? Any sign of the ringleader?"
Greaves shook his head, frustration clear in his voice. "No. We searched the manor after the battle—nothing. No sign of the ringleader or any direct connection to other cells. We captured five, but they're not high-level operatives. They're fanatics, but they don't know much beyond their orders for that night."
Scrimgeour's lips thinned into a hard line. "Five captured is something, but without intel on their movements, this raid could be a drop in the bucket. We need names, connections, future plans."
"We'll get them to talk," Auror Daniels added, stepping forward, his voice steady despite the exhaustion in his eyes. "We'll work them over in interrogation, sir."
Scrimgeour's gaze lingered on Daniels for a moment, then he gave a curt nod. "See to it. Every piece of information counts. I want hourly reports on the interrogations."
He turned back to Greaves, his expression softening just a fraction. "You and your team did well tonight. A dangerous group was taken down, and we have new prisoners to interrogate. But we can't let our guard down. They're getting bolder, more organized. This won't be the last time."
Greaves nodded, accepting the praise with the burden of knowing it wasn't the end. "Understood, sir."
Scrimgeour walked around his desk, dismissing the team with a wave of his hand. "Get some rest, all of you. Interrogations start at dawn."
As the team filed out of the debriefing room, the weight of the night still hung over them. They had won this battle, but it was only a small step in the larger war against the growing darkness.
Greaves lingered for a moment, watching as Scrimgeour returned to his desk, already pouring over maps and reports, eyes sharp and relentless. There was no time to celebrate, not when the storm was still gathering.
With a final nod, Greaves turned and left, the sound of heavy doors closing behind him echoing through the Ministry halls.
No one would be getting much sleep tonight.
***
"My lord, one of our bases was raided." Lord Lestrange said his voice slightly above a whisper as if worried he would anger the man before him
Voldemort's face contorted into a deep scowl his eyes blazing in fury, "Tell me everything!" he hissed standing from his seat
"Earlier tonight Meadow Peak Manor was raided by a team of Aurors and Hit wizards. Nine are dead. Five are captured and in interrogation rooms, as we speak." As Lord Lestrange finished Voldemort barely held himself back from lashing out
Taking a breath Voldemort steadied himself, "Anyone important?" he asked his voice losing much of the heat it held before
Lord Lestrange let out a breath of relief, "Not particularly so my lord. Of the five that were captured, only one can identify someone in the inner circle. Luckily the one that knew the most was killed and not captured."
"Who can he identify," Voldemort asked now fully sitting in his seat once more and leaning back into the chair
Lestrange's face tightened into a grimace, "Mulciber," he uttered
Voldemort frowned, "I see," his fingers grasped against the desk, "Do we have any spies that can access the interrogation rooms?"
Lestrange's expression turned even worse, "Yes but, they cannot access these interrogation rooms. It seems Rufus has decided to restrict access."
"Hmm,"
The silence seemed to stretch as Voldemort tried to come up with a plan.
"How well-versed are you with imperio?"
"Very,"
"Good, I need you to do something for me,"
***
The Ministry of Magic loomed large before Lord Lestrange as he passed through its main entrance, his features concealed beneath a hooded cloak. His presence was barely acknowledged by the inattentive Ministry workers scurrying about in the late hours. He moved through the shadowy corridors, every step silent, his heart calm, focused on the task at hand.
It wasn't long before he reached the lower levels, where the Potions Division was housed. The air here smelled of damp stone and stale ingredients. As he approached Argus Frail's office, the dim lighting flickered, casting long shadows across the door.
He knocked once.
Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing a gaunt man with pale skin, his eyes sunken from too many long nights brewing dangerous potions. Frail blinked in surprise, his tired face showing a flicker of recognition.
"Lord Lestrange… What are you doing here?" Frail's voice was uncertain, though he instinctively stepped back.
Lestrange's wand was in his hand before Frail could react. "Imperio."
The Potions Master's expression immediately slackened, his body going limp as Lestrange stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and smiled at the sight of Frail's blank eyes.
"Earlier tonight, Meadow Peak Manor was raided by a team of Aurors and Hit Wizards. Nine are dead. Five are captured and in interrogation rooms, as we speak." Lestrange's voice was smooth as he watched Frail for any response.
None came.
"As of now, you will obey my every command. You will soon be asked to brew Veritaserum, the most potent you can make. When you are asked to supply Veritaserum you will instead give them this." he passed over a vial
Frail nodded blankly, eyes staring ahead without thought or resistance.
Lestrange lowered his wand, feeling the power thrumming in his hand. His task was done, and the Potions Master was now a pawn under his control. He turned to leave, but before stepping out, he whispered, "You will not remember this encounter. You will wake and think you've been working through the night."
Frail stood frozen, his mind completely enslaved.
Later that night three of the five captives were killed and a potion master was arrested.
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