Whooom.
A crimson serpent of flame crawled up over the two bodies and in moments reduced them both to ash. Vincent watched, his expression blank, pressing down hard on the urge to consume their souls.
Henry, who had retreated to the mouth of the alley, stopped dead. He stared at Vincent and said through his teeth: "Vincent — those two weren't my people."
Snap.
Before he could get another word out, his wand flew from his hand and landed in Vincent's.
Henry's expression went complicated. "You've gotten stronger."
Then, quickly, he forced a sneer back into his voice: "But what does it matter how strong you are on your own — do you even know who we have behind us? Do you know what you're actually facing?"
Vincent waited until the last trace of the two souls had dispersed before turning his attention to Henry. He levelled the wand at him. "Are you done? You don't seriously think I won't kill you."
Henry looked as though a spark had hit dry tinder. "Of course you could kill me," he said loudly. "You could kill the man who looked after you when you first arrived. Just like three years ago — the moment you got strong enough, you turned your back on us without a second thought."
"…"
Vincent was quiet for a few seconds. Then he lowered the wand. "Get out of my sight. Don't come back."
Henry's fingers tightened. He looked at the wand lying in Vincent's hand — and ultimately didn't dare ask for it back. After a long pause, his voice came out rough: "They all miss you, you know. Come back sometime." He turned and walked quickly out of the alley.
"Tch. Playing the sentimental card. Being missed by a bunch of would-be Dark wizards isn't exactly something to feel good about."
That was the truth of it. Henry's lot weren't proper Dark wizards yet — but the way things were going, it was only a matter of time. Vincent wanted no part of it, even though he understood, in his way, that they were all pitiable people: survivors of the last war against Voldemort, men and women who had lost family or been left orphaned, forgotten entirely by the Ministry. Just like the original host of this body.
Vincent shook his head and looked down at the confiscated wand. Cypress wood — not a match for me, but it should do well enough for Bernadette to practise with.
He dropped it into the ring, then swept the two piles of ash clean and walked back the way he'd come.
Killing two idiots who opened with Unforgivables didn't weigh on him in the slightest. He'd done it before, for self-preservation. If it weren't for the side effects he'd discovered tied to ancient magic, he wasn't sure he could say with confidence that he wouldn't have gone further — that the temptation of growing stronger wouldn't eventually have turned the blade toward the innocent.
Fortunately, the soul-damage had been a wake-up call while there was still time. That was what had driven him to cut ties with Henry's group and retreat to the Muggle world to recover.
His mental state was good now. Mostly back to how he'd been before crossing over.
The reason he hadn't killed Henry came down to those first weeks after arriving in this world, when Henry had looked after him. And Henry's persistence in finding him wasn't purely about money — he wanted Vincent back. Wanted him to change his mind.
Vincent would have to be out of his mind to do that.
But his patience wasn't infinite, either. Especially now, with the world of Lord of the Mysteries in the picture — the sense of urgency had sharpened considerably. If Henry showed his face again…
He'd be sorry.
A few minutes later, Vincent strolled back into the Leaky Cauldron to find it considerably livelier than before — groups of two and three scattered across the tables, some talking loudly, some with their heads together.
He settled at the bar, thinking he'd have another Butterbeer.
That was when a man drifted toward him, trailing an overpowering smell of garlic. He had a purple turban wound around his head and an unhealthy pallor about him, and he ordered a glass of redcurrant rum in a trembling voice before finding a seat alone and nursing his drink. He kept jerking his head around to look over his shoulder, and spent the rest of the time muttering to himself with his chin down.
Vincent's gaze rested on the back of the man's head for a moment, then moved naturally away.
Voldemort, Voldemort. Getting that Philosopher's Stone is entirely up to you now.
Very glad to be working alongside you.
At that same moment, Voldemort — currently occupying the back of Quirrell's skull — felt a sudden cold prickle of malice. He spoke immediately, in a voice only Quirrell could hear: "Who is looking at me?"
Quirrell's hand jerked. "What? What is it?"
He turned his head. There was nothing. "I'm — I'm sorry, my Lord, there's no one there."
"Useless creature."
If he'd had any choice in the matter, Voldemort would never have chosen such a useless vessel. But for the Philosopher's Stone, he had been willing to take the risk.
Dumbledore. Wait for me.
Lord of the Mysteries world.
After composing herself, Bernadette passed through the spirit realm and returned to the Dawn.
When she had last been aboard, the Dawn was positioned near the boundary between the Sunya Sea and the ruins of the Divine War. Now it had moved into the waters of the Roslund Archipelago. To the west, the great outline of the Blue Mountain Island was just visible in the distance.
"Edel — you're certain the Morse Penitent Order has been moving through this area recently?"
First Mate Stephen was on the deck, questioning the bosun.
"Absolutely." Edel was a young man in a brown leather coat with a close-cropped head, the sort who could pass for a street vagrant at a glance. "I've dealt with that Laticia woman plenty of times — she's the one leading this group." He shrugged. "Only trouble is, I haven't figured out her destination yet."
"When we reach Bayam, I'll come ashore with you and we'll have a look."
"Works for me." Edel turned and left.
Stephen had just moved to head back to the cabin when he spotted Bernadette standing not far away, leaning against the railing. A brief moment of stunned relief — then he came toward her in an exaggerated near-wail: "Your Majesty, I have missed you so much—"
Thwack.
First Mate Crouche appeared from nowhere, landed a precise elbow into Stephen's ribs, then placed his right hand over his chest with dignified respect. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty."
"Good afternoon."
Bernadette gave a small nod, then looked at Stephen, who was clutching his chest. "What's the situation with the Morse Penitent Order?"
Stephen gathered himself. "Still unclear, at present. Only that it involves some ancient ruin in the Roslund Archipelago. I was planning to go ashore with Edel to investigate."
"Mm. Be careful."
The Dawn's crew had always been given considerable latitude. She rarely interfered.
Bernadette's gaze settled briefly on each of her two officers, then she said: "Stephen — I believe you've been after that spare Transport Ring of Crouche's for some time now?"
"Yes." Stephen shot the First Mate a look. "I've been asking him to sell it to me for ages and he just won't."
Crouche adjusted his spectacles mildly. "You couldn't produce enough money."
"I was only a few thousand short…"
"How much short," Bernadette said.
"Er. Eight thousand."
"I'll lend it to you. Go ahead and complete the transaction."
"Huh?"
Stephen scratched his head, puzzled, then looked at Crouche. "So… you can sell it to me now?"
"Of course." Crouche slid the white ring from his finger and tossed it across. "It's yours."
"…Oh. Right. Okay."
Stephen turned it over in his hand, vaguely unsatisfied. Shouldn't buying something you've wanted for a long time feel better than this?
Though — why did Her Majesty suddenly offer to lend me the money? Is she making up for slashing my throat last week? So the Queen, who always seems so cold, has this warmer side after all…
Crack.
Before he could pursue that line of thought any further, Crouche's elbow found him again.
Bernadette waited quietly. Nothing happened. No spirituality response of any kind.
So it seems the ability from the scales can only be used by that man.
To be continued…
Guys, donate me your powerstones please~