AWDT - Beautiful Twilight part 2
Jul. 28th, 2006 05:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlite_trystTitle: Beautiful Twilight, Part Two, Something Unexpected
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lusiology
Rating: R for language
Pairing: HP DM
Word Count: around 2480
Genre: Mystery, Drama, Dark Themes
Disclaimer: No ownership, no money.
Beta:saladbats Further mistakes are mine.
Summary: The Wizarding World is still recovering from the brutal and devastating war against Voldemort. Everyone agreed that it must never, ever happen again. But at what cost? A chance discovery will lead Auror Harry Potter down a dangerous path to find out.
Part One
Harry placed the phial of Pogrebin blood back on the table and opened Jebediah’s file, collated by the Hit Wizards before he had been transferred to the Auror section. He flicked through the parchments that created a fairly detailed picture of Jebediah’s background to enable him to formulate his next line of questioning.
Born a half-blood and squib, Jebediah was the youngest and only surviving child of Robin and Matilda Forrest. His mother, older brother and sister had been murdered at the family home in Edwinstowe, Nottinghamshire, in the summer of 1979 despite being under Ministry protection. Jebediah had been staying with his Muggleborn mother’s parents in Chester at the time of the attack.
It was believed that the Forrests became a target because Jebediah’s father, a Charms expert working for the Spell Research and Development Department of the Ministry, had been invited to work for Voldemort, and had declined the offer – several times. After the attack, Robin Forrest had left the Ministry’s employ and, taking his young son with him, effectively disappeared until his death was recorded in the Daily Prophet in June 2000.
Harry looked again at the date of the murders - 31 August 1979, just over two years before the deaths of his own parents, and felt a sudden overwhelming sense of sadness: more innocent lives lost or destroyed during Voldemort’s first rise to power.
Following his father’s death Jebediah had reappeared in the Wizarding World, drifting from one dead end low paid job to another. He had met and married another squib, Clarinda Green, two years ago, and had recently rented a flat in a Muggle apartment building at a fairly prestigious address in Holborn, London, close to the entrance of Diagon Alley.
It was clear that Jebediah was involved in selling rare or illegal ingredients, such as the Ramora scales, on the black market, but this was the first time he’d been spotted with something linked to the Dark Arts. Harry wondered if Jebediah had realised what the phials of yellow liquid were when he had obtained them. Or did he leave it to his contacts, whoever they may be, to ascertain the nature of the contents? He’d certainly looked shaken at the mention of the Dark Arts and Azkaban.
After several minutes the door reopened. Harry looked up as Doyle guided a sullen faced Jebediah back to his chair.
“Any trouble?”
“No. He was as meek as a lamb. No point playing the big man without an audience is there, Jebediah?” Doyle commented, returning to his seat next to Harry. Jebediah scowled at Doyle, but maintained his silence, choosing instead to stare intently at the floor.
Harry murmured the locking spell before returning his wand to his back pocket. He placed the file squarely in front of himself, letting both hands rest on top, and gently drummed his fingers to draw Jebediah’s attention to it, settling his gaze on the nervous looking man in front of him. Jebediah returned Harry’s gaze briefly, his expression more apprehensive, all trace of the earlier bravado gone.
"I hope you’re in a better frame of mind now and ready to answer our questions, Jebediah,” Harry said. “I don’t think your wife would appreciate it if we were to extend our hospitality indefinitely. She's got no idea of you’re current whereabouts, you know. She must frantic by now.”
Jebediah looked up sharply. “Bastard! You can’t keep me here indefinitely!” he said, clearly outraged. “I have rights.”
“Actually, you don’t,” Doyle pointed out. “Under the Dark Arts Act, Section three, Paragraph six you waved those rights when you attempted to peddle the blood of a Dark Creature. So you see, we can keep you here until we get to the truth.”
Jebediah slumped down in his chair, rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath to calm himself. “Look,” he said, “I’ve already told you and the other lot, I’ve never seen those things before in my life, and you have no proof that I was going to sell them to anyone,” his voice rose at the end in desperation.
Harry watched him intently. He knew the man was lying. The evidence was indisputable. But he also appeared to be frightened, and of more than a stint in Azkaban. Harry could see it in Jebediah’s body language: the constant fidgeting and trembling hands, the slow trickle of sweat down his temple, the inability to maintain eye contact and the visible wide-eyed panic when he did.
“Let’s look at the information the Hit Wizards collected shall we?” Harry said pleasantly as he slowly opened the file in front of him, knowing this would unsettle his suspect further. “After your father’s death you suddenly reappeared and took a job at a house of ill repute in Nocturn Alley as a barman. Where had you been until then?”
“After the attack on our home, my father was so worried about our safety that we went to live in a heavily warded and Unplottable Ministry house somewhere in Snowdonia. No one could get in or out of that house. The house-elves obtained everything we needed. He never recovered from it, you see, the murders.” Jebediah paused briefly before adding, “For twenty one years that house was my prison, until he died and I was released.”
“And then?”
“And then I had nothing,” Jebediah said with some bitterness.
Harry glanced at the notes. “But the Forrests had money and a small estate in Northumbria.”
“That was bound by wizard inheritance laws,” Jebediah retorted, “no squibs allowed. A distant cousin lives there now.”
Harry tamped down the wave of sympathy he felt rising, knowing compassion was a luxury he could ill afford if he wanted to get to the truth without using Veritaserum. He ran his eyes down the second sheet of parchment, taking his time to peruse it, so that Jebediah would only be too pleased to fill the uneasy silence that stretched out between them when the interrogation resumed.
“So, you’re an orderly at St. Mungo’s now?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about that.”
Jebediah sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Is this really necessary?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“I was working as a junior caretaker at one of the Ministry orphanages, when I got an Owl from some bloke, Reuben Pemberton, who said he’d worked with my father. He wanted to offer me a better job and invited me to St Mungo’s for an interview. I work with the long term patients now, those who will never leave.”
Harry instantly thought of the Longbottoms, still resident after twenty five years, and of Neville, still visiting them whenever he could. He paused, lost in the memory of the first time he'd seen the pitiful creatures Frank and Alice Longbottom had become, until Doyle's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"And is it better?” Doyle asked.
“Yeah, it's better. I’m not talked to like I’m an idiot just because I’m a squib. And the money’s more because of the unsociable hours.”
“But,” Harry said, tapping the parchment and frowning, “ if these figures are correct, orderly pay – even with fringe benefits - does not allow for many luxuries, such as…” he shuffled quickly through the records, “clothes from Twillfit and Tatting’s - outfitters of the rich and famous.”
“Then there’s where you live,” Doyle cut in after picking up a second piece of parchment from the file and scanning it quickly. “The Ziggurat, Saffron Hill, Holborn. That’s some address, for orderly pay. Hell, even for my pay!” Jebediah scowled, licked his lips and swallowed heavily, his eyes drawn back to the file as if mesmerized by its revealing contents.
“Full of expensive furniture,” Harry continued, “according to this inventory,” which he then slid across the table. He observed the subtle change in body language that indicated Jebediah’s rising anger.
“You… you’ve been in my home? Without my permission? Was my wife there?”
“Well not me as such,” said Harry, “but Hit Wizards have while you were under surveillance. And no, she wasn’t.”
Jebediah exploded. “You fuckers! You’re all little better than a bunch of bloody crooks, breaking into people’s homes.”
“Actually, they obtained a search warrant,” Doyle said.
“I don’t fucking well care what they had. I see your game now. It’s all let’s play nicely, trying to get me to say something you can use against me. Well, I’m not saying another bloody word.” He sat back and angrily folded his arms across his chest, glaring at the file in the middle of the table.
Time to offer a sweetener, Harry thought.
“You’re not helping yourself, you know.” Harry leaned forward and put on his best persuasive voice, giving an impression of intimacy that was incongruous with the stark surroundings of the interview room. “The net’s closing around you. We know it’s not been easy for you in the past, but you can make it easy for yourself now. All you have to do is name your supplier or contact, it’s that simple. Once the information has been verified we can help... you know… with Azkaban.” Harry leaned back on the chair, clasping his hands behind his head, and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “It’s up to you.”
Impossibly wide, frightened eyes finally looked up at him. Harry noticed that the trembling had spread from Jebediah’s hands to his arms and legs and beads of perspiration had broken out on his top lip. The man was close to breaking but still he said nothing so Harry moved in for the kill.
He picked out the final sheet of parchment and slid it toward Jebediah who stared in shock as he took in the meaning of the list of times and dates in front of him, along with the reference number of the Pensieve the surveillance team’s relevant memories had been stored in. Here at last was evidence he couldn’t refute. “How?” he choked out as his throat constricted.
“From a darkened room above the alley,” Doyle replied, "and round the clock surveillance of your home."
Harry watched with little satisfaction as the walls of Jebediah’s brave façade finally crumbled, and he broke down sobbing. Harry always felt uneasy during such displays of naked emotion, but knew that being relentless was a necessary evil to get to the truth. “Just one name, that’s all we need,” said Harry quietly, “then all this will stop and you can get something to eat and some sleep.”
“I… I can’t, you… you don’t understand,” Jebediah snivelled.
“What don’t I understand?” asked Harry with considerably more patience than he felt. “Tell me.”
Jebediah began to wring his hands. “He’ll… he’ll…find out.”
“We can protect you,” Harry soothed, “keep you safe. We need to stop these people from dealing in the Dark Arts because it could endanger us all. You don’t want another Voldemort do you? Think of what happened to your mother,” Jebediah flinched, “and your brother and sister. If you help us, then we will help you.”
“I can’t!” Jebediah screamed at him, “I don’t know any names.” And he began to quietly sob again, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his robe.
“Then how do you know who to sell to?” Harry said.
“I… I don’t. I just grab things when I can and see who wants them. Its old stock, so I didn’t think anyone would miss it.”
Harry shot a startled look at Doyle who frowned back at him. “Grab things? Like Pogrebin’s blood?” Harry pressed, “Where from?”
Jebediah wrapped his arms around his body and rocked back and forth, murmuring to himself repeatedly, “I can’t tell you. He’ll know what I did. He’ll kill me.”
“Who?” Harry demanded, his poise slipping. “Who will kill you?”
Jebediah continued rocking, muttering repeatedly, “He’ll kill me, he’ll kill me.”
Harry ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Then you leave me no choice but to use Veritaserum.”
Jebediah suddenly stopped rocking and looked at Harry in terror. “You just don’t understand,” he hissed, “I can’t take that. I don’t want to die.”
Harry looked over to a plain rectangular mirror on the wall to his left. “Veritaserum. One dose,” he said.
“No. Please,” Jebediah begged, “please…”
“You leave me no alternative,” Harry sighed, “I must track down the source of these phials.”
Jebediah bowed his head in defeat. There was a soft knock at the door. Harry released the locking spell again as Doyle walked over and opened it. A young blonde witch handed him a small bottle of clear liquid. He thanked her and closed the door. The locking spell was replaced.
Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself. He hated using Veritaserum, it brought back memories of the interrogations at the Death Eater trials he reluctantly sat through at the end of the war. Memories that would trigger the nightmares of the subsequent reprisals and blood letting by the so-called ’side of light’. When the new Minister of Magic, Adrian Grey, had proclaimed at his post election speech that it must never, ever happen again, Harry had been only to ready to add his voice to the rising chorus of assent.
“You can take this voluntarily or I will use a body bind.” Jebediah stared into space, seemingly too terrified to speak. “Well, no one can accuse you of not being able to hold your tongue,” Harry murmured as he walked round the table and administered the potion quickly to Jebediah, placing the bottle on the table when it was empty. He returned to his seat, glancing briefly at the mirror on the wall, then started what he hoped would be a short interrogation.
“What is your full name?”
Jebediah opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a rasping sound. The rasping suddenly changed to a strangled noise as Jebediah struggled to breath. Harry jumped up in alarm and shouted “Release the door,” as he grabbed Jebediah’s falling body and laid him on the floor.
Doyle released the door then turned back to see Harry cast Anapneo, to open Jebediah’s airway. Surprisingly, it made no difference and he continued to writhe below Harry, clutching desperately at his throat.
“Jebediah! Fuck!” Harry straddled the flailing man’s chest and pulled a small knife from his trouser pocket, flicking it open. “Doyle! Grab his head and try to keep him still. I need to cut into his windpipe to help him breath. ” Jebediah’s eyes began to bulge and his lips turned blue. His head shook violently from side to side, despite Doyle’s best efforts, and his body bucked, preventing Harry from helping him.
The door finally opened and two witches came rushing over with a medi-potions kit, but it was too late.
Jebediah was dead.
~*~
TBC
Author:
lusiologyRating: R for language
Pairing: HP DM
Word Count: around 2480
Genre: Mystery, Drama, Dark Themes
Disclaimer: No ownership, no money.
Beta:
saladbats Further mistakes are mine.Summary: The Wizarding World is still recovering from the brutal and devastating war against Voldemort. Everyone agreed that it must never, ever happen again. But at what cost? A chance discovery will lead Auror Harry Potter down a dangerous path to find out.
Part One
Harry placed the phial of Pogrebin blood back on the table and opened Jebediah’s file, collated by the Hit Wizards before he had been transferred to the Auror section. He flicked through the parchments that created a fairly detailed picture of Jebediah’s background to enable him to formulate his next line of questioning.
Born a half-blood and squib, Jebediah was the youngest and only surviving child of Robin and Matilda Forrest. His mother, older brother and sister had been murdered at the family home in Edwinstowe, Nottinghamshire, in the summer of 1979 despite being under Ministry protection. Jebediah had been staying with his Muggleborn mother’s parents in Chester at the time of the attack.
It was believed that the Forrests became a target because Jebediah’s father, a Charms expert working for the Spell Research and Development Department of the Ministry, had been invited to work for Voldemort, and had declined the offer – several times. After the attack, Robin Forrest had left the Ministry’s employ and, taking his young son with him, effectively disappeared until his death was recorded in the Daily Prophet in June 2000.
Harry looked again at the date of the murders - 31 August 1979, just over two years before the deaths of his own parents, and felt a sudden overwhelming sense of sadness: more innocent lives lost or destroyed during Voldemort’s first rise to power.
Following his father’s death Jebediah had reappeared in the Wizarding World, drifting from one dead end low paid job to another. He had met and married another squib, Clarinda Green, two years ago, and had recently rented a flat in a Muggle apartment building at a fairly prestigious address in Holborn, London, close to the entrance of Diagon Alley.
It was clear that Jebediah was involved in selling rare or illegal ingredients, such as the Ramora scales, on the black market, but this was the first time he’d been spotted with something linked to the Dark Arts. Harry wondered if Jebediah had realised what the phials of yellow liquid were when he had obtained them. Or did he leave it to his contacts, whoever they may be, to ascertain the nature of the contents? He’d certainly looked shaken at the mention of the Dark Arts and Azkaban.
After several minutes the door reopened. Harry looked up as Doyle guided a sullen faced Jebediah back to his chair.
“Any trouble?”
“No. He was as meek as a lamb. No point playing the big man without an audience is there, Jebediah?” Doyle commented, returning to his seat next to Harry. Jebediah scowled at Doyle, but maintained his silence, choosing instead to stare intently at the floor.
Harry murmured the locking spell before returning his wand to his back pocket. He placed the file squarely in front of himself, letting both hands rest on top, and gently drummed his fingers to draw Jebediah’s attention to it, settling his gaze on the nervous looking man in front of him. Jebediah returned Harry’s gaze briefly, his expression more apprehensive, all trace of the earlier bravado gone.
"I hope you’re in a better frame of mind now and ready to answer our questions, Jebediah,” Harry said. “I don’t think your wife would appreciate it if we were to extend our hospitality indefinitely. She's got no idea of you’re current whereabouts, you know. She must frantic by now.”
Jebediah looked up sharply. “Bastard! You can’t keep me here indefinitely!” he said, clearly outraged. “I have rights.”
“Actually, you don’t,” Doyle pointed out. “Under the Dark Arts Act, Section three, Paragraph six you waved those rights when you attempted to peddle the blood of a Dark Creature. So you see, we can keep you here until we get to the truth.”
Jebediah slumped down in his chair, rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath to calm himself. “Look,” he said, “I’ve already told you and the other lot, I’ve never seen those things before in my life, and you have no proof that I was going to sell them to anyone,” his voice rose at the end in desperation.
Harry watched him intently. He knew the man was lying. The evidence was indisputable. But he also appeared to be frightened, and of more than a stint in Azkaban. Harry could see it in Jebediah’s body language: the constant fidgeting and trembling hands, the slow trickle of sweat down his temple, the inability to maintain eye contact and the visible wide-eyed panic when he did.
“Let’s look at the information the Hit Wizards collected shall we?” Harry said pleasantly as he slowly opened the file in front of him, knowing this would unsettle his suspect further. “After your father’s death you suddenly reappeared and took a job at a house of ill repute in Nocturn Alley as a barman. Where had you been until then?”
“After the attack on our home, my father was so worried about our safety that we went to live in a heavily warded and Unplottable Ministry house somewhere in Snowdonia. No one could get in or out of that house. The house-elves obtained everything we needed. He never recovered from it, you see, the murders.” Jebediah paused briefly before adding, “For twenty one years that house was my prison, until he died and I was released.”
“And then?”
“And then I had nothing,” Jebediah said with some bitterness.
Harry glanced at the notes. “But the Forrests had money and a small estate in Northumbria.”
“That was bound by wizard inheritance laws,” Jebediah retorted, “no squibs allowed. A distant cousin lives there now.”
Harry tamped down the wave of sympathy he felt rising, knowing compassion was a luxury he could ill afford if he wanted to get to the truth without using Veritaserum. He ran his eyes down the second sheet of parchment, taking his time to peruse it, so that Jebediah would only be too pleased to fill the uneasy silence that stretched out between them when the interrogation resumed.
“So, you’re an orderly at St. Mungo’s now?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about that.”
Jebediah sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Is this really necessary?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“I was working as a junior caretaker at one of the Ministry orphanages, when I got an Owl from some bloke, Reuben Pemberton, who said he’d worked with my father. He wanted to offer me a better job and invited me to St Mungo’s for an interview. I work with the long term patients now, those who will never leave.”
Harry instantly thought of the Longbottoms, still resident after twenty five years, and of Neville, still visiting them whenever he could. He paused, lost in the memory of the first time he'd seen the pitiful creatures Frank and Alice Longbottom had become, until Doyle's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"And is it better?” Doyle asked.
“Yeah, it's better. I’m not talked to like I’m an idiot just because I’m a squib. And the money’s more because of the unsociable hours.”
“But,” Harry said, tapping the parchment and frowning, “ if these figures are correct, orderly pay – even with fringe benefits - does not allow for many luxuries, such as…” he shuffled quickly through the records, “clothes from Twillfit and Tatting’s - outfitters of the rich and famous.”
“Then there’s where you live,” Doyle cut in after picking up a second piece of parchment from the file and scanning it quickly. “The Ziggurat, Saffron Hill, Holborn. That’s some address, for orderly pay. Hell, even for my pay!” Jebediah scowled, licked his lips and swallowed heavily, his eyes drawn back to the file as if mesmerized by its revealing contents.
“Full of expensive furniture,” Harry continued, “according to this inventory,” which he then slid across the table. He observed the subtle change in body language that indicated Jebediah’s rising anger.
“You… you’ve been in my home? Without my permission? Was my wife there?”
“Well not me as such,” said Harry, “but Hit Wizards have while you were under surveillance. And no, she wasn’t.”
Jebediah exploded. “You fuckers! You’re all little better than a bunch of bloody crooks, breaking into people’s homes.”
“Actually, they obtained a search warrant,” Doyle said.
“I don’t fucking well care what they had. I see your game now. It’s all let’s play nicely, trying to get me to say something you can use against me. Well, I’m not saying another bloody word.” He sat back and angrily folded his arms across his chest, glaring at the file in the middle of the table.
Time to offer a sweetener, Harry thought.
“You’re not helping yourself, you know.” Harry leaned forward and put on his best persuasive voice, giving an impression of intimacy that was incongruous with the stark surroundings of the interview room. “The net’s closing around you. We know it’s not been easy for you in the past, but you can make it easy for yourself now. All you have to do is name your supplier or contact, it’s that simple. Once the information has been verified we can help... you know… with Azkaban.” Harry leaned back on the chair, clasping his hands behind his head, and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “It’s up to you.”
Impossibly wide, frightened eyes finally looked up at him. Harry noticed that the trembling had spread from Jebediah’s hands to his arms and legs and beads of perspiration had broken out on his top lip. The man was close to breaking but still he said nothing so Harry moved in for the kill.
He picked out the final sheet of parchment and slid it toward Jebediah who stared in shock as he took in the meaning of the list of times and dates in front of him, along with the reference number of the Pensieve the surveillance team’s relevant memories had been stored in. Here at last was evidence he couldn’t refute. “How?” he choked out as his throat constricted.
“From a darkened room above the alley,” Doyle replied, "and round the clock surveillance of your home."
Harry watched with little satisfaction as the walls of Jebediah’s brave façade finally crumbled, and he broke down sobbing. Harry always felt uneasy during such displays of naked emotion, but knew that being relentless was a necessary evil to get to the truth. “Just one name, that’s all we need,” said Harry quietly, “then all this will stop and you can get something to eat and some sleep.”
“I… I can’t, you… you don’t understand,” Jebediah snivelled.
“What don’t I understand?” asked Harry with considerably more patience than he felt. “Tell me.”
Jebediah began to wring his hands. “He’ll… he’ll…find out.”
“We can protect you,” Harry soothed, “keep you safe. We need to stop these people from dealing in the Dark Arts because it could endanger us all. You don’t want another Voldemort do you? Think of what happened to your mother,” Jebediah flinched, “and your brother and sister. If you help us, then we will help you.”
“I can’t!” Jebediah screamed at him, “I don’t know any names.” And he began to quietly sob again, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his robe.
“Then how do you know who to sell to?” Harry said.
“I… I don’t. I just grab things when I can and see who wants them. Its old stock, so I didn’t think anyone would miss it.”
Harry shot a startled look at Doyle who frowned back at him. “Grab things? Like Pogrebin’s blood?” Harry pressed, “Where from?”
Jebediah wrapped his arms around his body and rocked back and forth, murmuring to himself repeatedly, “I can’t tell you. He’ll know what I did. He’ll kill me.”
“Who?” Harry demanded, his poise slipping. “Who will kill you?”
Jebediah continued rocking, muttering repeatedly, “He’ll kill me, he’ll kill me.”
Harry ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Then you leave me no choice but to use Veritaserum.”
Jebediah suddenly stopped rocking and looked at Harry in terror. “You just don’t understand,” he hissed, “I can’t take that. I don’t want to die.”
Harry looked over to a plain rectangular mirror on the wall to his left. “Veritaserum. One dose,” he said.
“No. Please,” Jebediah begged, “please…”
“You leave me no alternative,” Harry sighed, “I must track down the source of these phials.”
Jebediah bowed his head in defeat. There was a soft knock at the door. Harry released the locking spell again as Doyle walked over and opened it. A young blonde witch handed him a small bottle of clear liquid. He thanked her and closed the door. The locking spell was replaced.
Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself. He hated using Veritaserum, it brought back memories of the interrogations at the Death Eater trials he reluctantly sat through at the end of the war. Memories that would trigger the nightmares of the subsequent reprisals and blood letting by the so-called ’side of light’. When the new Minister of Magic, Adrian Grey, had proclaimed at his post election speech that it must never, ever happen again, Harry had been only to ready to add his voice to the rising chorus of assent.
“You can take this voluntarily or I will use a body bind.” Jebediah stared into space, seemingly too terrified to speak. “Well, no one can accuse you of not being able to hold your tongue,” Harry murmured as he walked round the table and administered the potion quickly to Jebediah, placing the bottle on the table when it was empty. He returned to his seat, glancing briefly at the mirror on the wall, then started what he hoped would be a short interrogation.
“What is your full name?”
Jebediah opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a rasping sound. The rasping suddenly changed to a strangled noise as Jebediah struggled to breath. Harry jumped up in alarm and shouted “Release the door,” as he grabbed Jebediah’s falling body and laid him on the floor.
Doyle released the door then turned back to see Harry cast Anapneo, to open Jebediah’s airway. Surprisingly, it made no difference and he continued to writhe below Harry, clutching desperately at his throat.
“Jebediah! Fuck!” Harry straddled the flailing man’s chest and pulled a small knife from his trouser pocket, flicking it open. “Doyle! Grab his head and try to keep him still. I need to cut into his windpipe to help him breath. ” Jebediah’s eyes began to bulge and his lips turned blue. His head shook violently from side to side, despite Doyle’s best efforts, and his body bucked, preventing Harry from helping him.
The door finally opened and two witches came rushing over with a medi-potions kit, but it was too late.
Jebediah was dead.
TBC
