Ch270- Fate

Ch270- Fate

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Although Harry didn't need reassurances from Avery, he wasn't about to let the man run off and speak freely. The fact that an Auror-in-training had already caught wind of his new identity, his name, and his motives was a mess he couldn't afford to let spiral further. He messed up enough in his second day. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial, holding it out for Avery.

"Drink this," Harry instructed, his voice calm but carrying a weight that made it clear this wasn't a request.

Avery stared at the vial, his hands trembling as he took it. "What is this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry chuckled lightly, a sound that sent a shiver down Avery's spine. "Relax, if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't still be standing here." He let the implication hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "It's a slow-acting poison. You'll need the antidote every week to keep yourself alive. You can meet me here to get your dose and give me updates. Got it?"

Avery's eyes widened in terror, but he nodded quickly, uncorking the vial with shaking hands. He hesitated for just a second before downing the contents in one gulp, grimacing at the taste. He stood there, waiting for something awful to happen, but nothing did. He looked at Harry, confused.

"Oh, and before you get any ideas," Harry added, his tone almost casual, "if you try to seek any treatment or antidote from someone else, the poison will kick in and kill you instantly. You can test it if you like—just think about drinking another potion."

Avery's face paled further as he fumbled for a potion from his pocket, his mind racing with fear. The moment he raised it to his lips with the intent to drink, a sharp pain shot through his chest, and he coughed up a splatter of blood. The bottle slipped from his hands, crashing to the ground as he gasped for breath, the sensation of death brushing against him like a cold breeze. Desperately, he kicked the potion away, his fear palpable.

Harry watched him with cold detachment, satisfied that the message had been received loud and clear. "See? Now we're on the same page." He stepped back, giving Avery room to collect himself. "I'll expect you here next week with something useful. Don’t disappoint me."

Avery, still trembling, nodded frantically, clearly too terrified to do anything but comply. Without another word, Harry turned and disappeared into the shadows of the alley, leaving Avery to stagger back into the pub, shaken but alive—for now.

Harry walked through the dimly lit streets, his mind already shifting gears to his next move. The encounter had been a necessary evil, a reminder that in Knockturn Alley, survival often depended on how well you could play the game. And Harry was just getting started.

Just as Harry was about to make his way back to Diagon Alley, a sudden shift in the atmosphere made him pause. The air around him felt heavier, charged with something he couldn’t quite place. Without wasting a second, he slipped into the Astral Dimension, his senses sharpening as he scanned the area. Runes glowed faintly around the perimeter, forming an intricate barrier that spelled trouble. 'Anti-Apparition. Anti-Portkey,' he realized with a grimace.

Harry cursed under his breath and instinctively reached for his Invisibility Cloak. But before he could pull it over himself, he spotted a familiar figure moving through the Astral Dimension, heading straight for his location. 'Dumbledore,' Harry thought, his mind racing. Getting caught was bad enough, but getting caught while using the Potter cloak would be a disaster. He quickly tucked the cloak away, his eyes darting around for an exit, but there was none. The place was surrounded.

Moody grunted, his focus still darting around the alley. “We’ve got his name and face. Next time he shows up, we’ll be ready.”

Dumbledore nodded, more out of habit than conviction. He doubted that this “Albus Riddle” would resurface anytime soon, but the thought lingered. Perhaps the man was nothing more than a fool, wandering into situations far beyond his understanding. Or maybe it was all just a series of coincidences, meaningless events strung together by chance. But then again, a voice whispered at the back of his mind, Or fate.

Kingsley broke the silence, his voice steady but concerned. “So, what do we do now, Albus? We have a name, but nothing more.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We’ll continue our investigations quietly. There’s no need to stir panic over a name, especially one so... familiar.”

Mundungus, who had been lingering at the back of the group, cleared his throat nervously. “I, uh, reckon I should keep my ears open, yeah? Might hear something useful.”

Dumbledore turned to him, a slight smile on his lips. “That would be helpful, Mr. Fletcher. But be careful. Whoever this Albus Riddle is, he’s playing a dangerous game, and I suspect he’s not alone.”

Moody grunted in agreement. “We need to find out who he’s working with. No one operates in Knockturn Alley without some backup.”

“Agreed,” Kingsley added, nodding. “And if this Riddle character has connections to Bellatrix Lestrange, it could mean trouble on a much larger scale.”

The group dispersed, each member slipping back into the night to carry on their tasks. Dumbledore lingered a moment longer, staring up at the sky where the Thunderbird had vanished. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, the storm's energy seemingly spent. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on the edge of something much larger, something that was only just beginning to unfold.

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