(Vincent's POV)
The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the grand windows of my office, casting long shadows across the polished oak floor. I leaned back in the plush Chancellor's chair, As I was looking at proposed legislation awaiting my review. The usual hum of the Parliament building.
My phone buzzed, the insistent vibration a jarring counterpoint to the quiet hum of activity outside. I glanced at the screen, expecting the usual barrage of emails, news alerts, and stock updates. Instead, a single line of text, stark and chilling, pulsed in crimson: Agent Shadow-7: Asset compromised, Erratic Activity.
Arthur.
"Fuck."
I slammed my hand down on the desk shuddering under the force of my fury. My son had been taken.
I locked the office door with a flick of my wand, the heavy oak thudding shut with a finality that echoed the cold certainty taking root in my heart. I strode toward a seemingly innocuous landscape painting on the far wall, my fingers tracing its gilded frame. With a practiced twist, the painting swung inward, revealing a hidden safe, its steel door gleaming like a promise of retribution.
My fingerprint pressed against the scanner, the green light flickering in acknowledgment. I punched in the code, the tumblers clicking open with a satisfying finality. The vault door swung open, and I reached inside.
The Beretta 1301, its sleek black lines a symphony of lethal efficiency, nestled into my hand like an old friend. I checked the chamber, the satisfying click of a shell loading echoing the icy calm settling over me. Beside it, the trusty Smith & Wesson 5906, its weight familiar against my hip.
I pulled out a tactical vest, its pockets already loaded with extra magazines, and strapped it on. Another flick of my wand, and a holster materialized on my thigh, the leather molding to the 5906's contours.
My phone buzzed again. An update from the agent. Lost visual. sign of struggle. Asset wand was recovered, Likely Apparated.
I shoved the phone into my pocket, my gaze hardening. They'd taken him. But they wouldn't keep him. Not if I had anything to say about it.
I sent a message, brief, urgent, to Cerberus HQ: Ten Hounds. Combat ready. Now.
The world dissolved into a familiar swirl of nausea, my office fading into a blur of disorientation as I Apparated.
The air in the Cerberus HQ training room crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with the usual drills and sparring sessions. Ten agents, handpicked for their loyalty, their ruthlessness, stood at attention, their expressions grim masks beneath their tactical gear. I'd trained them, pushed them to their limits, honed their skills in both magic and weaponry. They were my Hounds. And tonight, they would hunt.
I strode into the room, my presence a silent command. "Report."
"Sir, Hounds are ready for deployment, Awaiting orders." The lead agent, his voice a clipped murmur, met my gaze with unwavering determination.
I didn't need to elaborate. They'd received the message, the coded alert that shattered our carefully constructed world. My son had been taken, I did not know how many enemies I would have to face wherever Atrhut was. That's why I brought the Hounds.
I pulled up my phone and tried to locate Arthur's phone, But I did not have any hope, smart kidnappers would destroy or leave the person's phone behi…The phone was still active and I got the location,a forest in the middle of scotland.
The Hounds formed a circle around me, their hands reaching out, touching my shoulders, And then, with a sickening lurch, a twist of disorientation that made my vision blur, we were gone.
The forest air was crisp, the scent of pine and damp earth. The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest floor.
I scanned the clearing, the Hounds fanning out around me, their movements silent, predatory. A small cabin, its windows glowing with a warm, inviting light, stood nestled amidst the trees.
"Hold," I murmured, my voice a barely audible whisper.
We moved closer, taking up positions behind the thick trunks of ancient pines. I could sense their presence within the cabin. Three. Wizards.
The 5906 felt cold and reassuring in my hand. Beside me, the Hounds checked their weapons and grim masks in the moonlight. They were ready. We were ready.:
(General POV)
Sirius reread the message one last time, a grim satisfaction settling over him as he pictured Vincent's face contorting with fear. "This time, you'll feel it, you bastard," he muttered, his finger hovering over the send button.
Harry, perched on the edge of the table, watched Arthur in the corner. The young man's face was pale, his blue eyes holding a flicker of fear.
Suddenly, a deafening crash shattered the stillness. The window imploded, shards of glass flying as a blinding white light engulfed the space. Sirius, his hand instinctively flying to his eyes, cried out. Harry, momentarily blinded, staggered back, his wand slipping from his grasp.
A figure clad in black materialized from the swirling dust, a Beretta 1301 raised. Boom. The blast was deafening, instantaneous. Blood and bone splattered against the wall where Sirius had stood a heartbeat before. Silence descended, heavy and thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of gunpowder.
Harry, his vision returning, saw Sirius's lifeless body slumped against the wall, his gray eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. Horror flooded him, a cold wave that stole his breath. Before the scream could escape his lips, he saw his wand lying a few feet away. He lunged, desperate, his fingers brushing against the familiar wood.
Crack. A gunshot. Agony exploded in his hand, the world dissolving into a red haze of pain. He hit the floor, a scream ripping from his throat, his vision blurring as blood gushed from his mangled hand. He cradled it against his chest, whimpering, his world shrinking to the pulsing agony.
He saw someone covered in all black and with a hound mask reach Arthur and Apparate Away.
Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate.
He looked up, and saw Vincent standing over him. The Chancellor, his face an impassive mask, his blue eyes as cold and sharp as shards of ice, raised his foot and pressed it down, grinding his heel into Harry's shattered hand.
Another scream tore from Harry's throat, raw and primal, but Vincent didn't flinch.
"What the fuck were you thinking, Potter?" Vincent's voice was a low growl, devoid of emotion.
"You… you killed Dumbledore!" Harry gasped, his voice a strangled whisper, tears mingling with the blood streaming down his face. "And now Sirius… you bastard… you killed him, too!"
Vincent scoffed. "I didn't kill Dumbledore, Potter. Nor did I have anyone do it. Don't flatter yourself."
A wave of confusion washed over Harry. If Vincent hadn't… then who…?
"You made a grave mistake coming for my family, Potter," Vincent said, his voice cold, flat. "I would have let you wallow in your pathetic little life if you'd just known your place. But you crossed a line. And now…"
Vincent pulled the 5906, the same gun that had killed voldemort and aimed it at Harry's head.
"No…" Harry whimpered, the enormity of his mistake, the futility of his actions, crashing down on him.
Vincent's finger tightened on the trigger. Boom.
Silence fell once more, heavier now, final.
Vincent turned away, his gaze sweeping over the carnage, the lifeless eyes of his enemies staring up at him. He looked at the Hounds.
"Cleaning procedure," he said, his voice a clipped command. "Make sure there's nothing left."