Did the "Descent of the God" just end like that? Could it be that the energy was exhausted?
Wes Elwin didn't know the exact situation, but he was desperate to check O'Connell's body to see if there were any unusual changes.
However, Evelyn and Jonathan blocked his path, refusing to let him come closer. Their eyes burned with hostility—they already regarded Wes as an enemy.
Helpless, Wes had no choice but to immobilize the two of them with a spell.
O'Connell struggled to rise, but he was far too weak. Every movement was heavy, labored.
Wes quickly went to his side and examined him carefully, but found no obvious abnormalities in O'Connell's body.
Finally, Wes took a small vial of restorative potion from his sleeve and handed it to him.
"Drink this. It'll help restore your strength."
And then, in a flash of magical light, Wes vanished.
He had witnessed both the Ten Plagues and the Descent of the God, obtained both the Book of the Dead and the Book of the Sun—yet the ending of this battle with Him left Wes dissatisfied. The abrupt, anticlimactic close was like a thorn lodged in his heart, leaving him restless and uneasy.
But the moment he returned to Hogwarts, another troubling piece of news awaited him.
"Peter Pettigrew escaped??" Wes was speechless when he heard it.
Dumbledore nodded helplessly.
"According to the Aurors escorting him, he used his rat form to incite chaos and seized the chance to slip away."
"Were they drunk on bootleg firewhisky?!" Wes snapped, utterly disgusted with the Ministry's incompetence. "How could they let him escape like that?"
Dumbledore handed him a cup of black tea, trying to soothe his temper.
"Because of the upcoming World Cup, the Ministry diverted many of its best wizards. Pettigrew's transport was not given much priority. Fudge has flown into a rage, and many within the Ministry are growing dissatisfied with him."
Wes took the teacup and sipped lightly, though he cared little for such politics.
"Didn't anyone bother to leave some kind of mark on Peter Pettigrew so he could be tracked?"
Dumbledore shrugged.
"Regrettably, no. We considered it, but in the end chose to respect due process."
Wes sighed and shook his head.
"What a complete mess."
Just then, a silver-white sphere slipped from his sleeve, glowing with a soft light.
It was one of a pair of communication tools he had crafted—the other was in Lucius Malfoy's possession. For Lucius to use it now meant something urgent had come up.
"The Ministry's mess is yours to deal with. I've got my own business to handle," Wes said to Dumbledore.
"Need my help?" Dumbledore asked mildly, spooning three generous heaps of honey into Wes's tea.
Wes frowned at the cup with open distaste but didn't touch it.
"If I need you, I'll say so."
He turned and left the office. The peace of Hogwarts seemed to have slipped further away from him, replaced instead by endless trouble.
Hogsmeade Village, The Three Broomsticks Inn.
Wes never understood why people always preferred to meet here.
Maybe it was because the crowded atmosphere made eavesdropping harder?
Or maybe the lively noise simply made it easier to hide secrets?
He walked into the corner of the tavern's main hall, where Lucius was already waiting. The man was wrapped completely in a black cloak, only his eyes visible. Even his hands were covered with black gloves.
"You're here," Lucius said. His voice was altered by some magical device, deep and rasping.
Wes wasn't surprised—being an informant was dangerous business.
And as for whether Lucius' odd appearance drew attention, well, there were plenty of patrons dressed far stranger than him. In this place, Lucius almost looked ordinary.
Wes sat down and cast a Silencing Charm.
"Speak freely. No one will overhear us."
Lucius' tense body relaxed at once. He let out a long breath, as though a heavy burden had been lifted.
"They found me… those 'Death Eaters.'"
Wes raised an eyebrow.
"And what do they want from you?"
Even with the silencing charm in place, Lucius still lowered his voice.
"The Dark Mark is growing stronger. They suspect the Dark Lord's return. To avoid being punished once he comes back, they're planning to stir up trouble—something to prove their loyalty."
When Voldemort fell, a handful of his most fanatical followers were thrown into Azkaban, but most Death Eaters avoided prison through various excuses and connections.
Lucius had claimed he'd only served under the Imperius Curse, and his pure-blood family's influence had spared him punishment. But to Voldemort and his true loyalists, that excuse was nothing but betrayal. Now that the Dark Mark had reappeared, panic was spreading among them. They feared retribution.
"They plan to cause chaos at the World Cup. That's how they'll show their loyalty," Lucius whispered.
Wes sighed. These Death Eaters were nothing but opportunists, swaying whichever way the wind blew.
"Any chance some of them could be turned?"
Lucius nearly toppled backward in his seat. He instantly understood Wes meant recruiting defectors. He shook his head sharply.
"Don't even think about it. That's far too dangerous."
Wes didn't press.
"Then just play along. Don't raise suspicion. All I need is for you to pass me the time and location of their strike."
Lucius exhaled in relief. As long as he didn't have to act openly, he could manage.
"They plan to use the crowds during the World Cup to cover their attack. I'll get you the exact details as soon as possible."
Wes noticed Lucius' unease and offered reassurance.
"Don't worry. You won't be exposed. We'll make sure everything is handled properly."
"I hope so…" Lucius downed his entire glass of firewhisky in one gulp, forcing down his nerves. After a quick glance around to check for danger, he rose and left.
A few minutes later, a scarab beetle crawled onto the table, moving in a precise pattern across the wood.
"No one followed Lucius. He's safe, for now."
Satisfied that Lucius hadn't been tailed, Wes returned to Hogwarts and went straight to Dumbledore's office to discuss strategy.
"These are troubled times indeed…" Dumbledore stroked his long silver beard and sighed.
Wes cut him off.
"We already know their plan. They won't be able to cause much damage. What matters is making it look natural—so the Death Eaters never suspect there's a traitor among them."
"That is indeed the problem," Dumbledore muttered, his index finger tapping the desk. Thud… thud… The sound echoed through the office.
"Ah, I've got it." His eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. He pulled out parchment and began writing.
°°°
Hungry for more chaps? Then check out our pătreon!
Link: Påtreon.com/BaphometFiction
I post 20 advanced chapters of this fanfic there.
If you do subscribe, please do so in the web patreon, not the ios app.