In the living room on the second floor, Torquil Travers abruptly stopped speaking, his hand darting to his wand. The other four individuals followed suit, each drawing their wands with practiced urgency. "The alarm on the third floor's been triggered," Travers said grimly, scanning the group. "Karkaroff, go check it out. The rest of you, stay alert."
Igor scowled, his lips curling in frustration. "Why is it always me?" he muttered under his breath. Still, he stood up reluctantly. Seeking refuge under Travers' protection meant putting up with orders like this. With his wand gripped tightly, Karkaroff trudged toward the staircase.
Meanwhile, Travers addressed the remaining group with a sharp tone. "Yaxley, Goyle, Crabbe—grab a handful of Floo powder each. If anything goes wrong, retreat to Travers Manor immediately."
The three men nodded and moved to the fireplace, each taking a handful of powder while keeping a wary eye on their surroundings.
Upstairs, Karkaroff proceeded cautiously. He checked every corner, opened every door, and peeked inside each room. Finding nothing, he frowned in confusion. Just as he was about to give up, a faint tapping sound echoed through the hallway. His wand hand tensed as he felt the magical wards tremble again.
Karkaroff followed the noise, his steps growing quicker until he reached a window. There, on the sill, was a small crow pecking at the glass with what could only be described as comical persistence.
The tension drained from Karkaroff's body, replaced by irritation. "You little pest…" he muttered, shaking his head. Muttering an incantation, he disabled the alarm spell on the window, opened it, and waved his hand to shoo the bird away. Satisfied, he leaned out the window to check Diagon Alley below. Everything appeared normal. Muttering another spell to rearm the alarm, Karkaroff shut the window and made his way back downstairs. "It was just a stupid crow," Karkaroff said, flopping back onto the sofa with a wry smile. "It must've triggered the wards. I chased it off. No one got in."
The tension in the room eased, and the others returned the Floo powder to its containers. For a brief moment, the group relaxed. Karkaroff, however, noticed their earlier readiness to flee and felt a stab of annoyance. Clearly, he was expendable in their eyes—a burden to be left behind at the first sign of danger. He pursed his lips in frustration but said nothing.
Travers noticed Karkaroff's sour expression but didn't bother addressing it. Instead, he resumed their conversation from earlier. "We'll stay here for a while longer. My brother's under a lot of pressure right now, but he's doing what he can. Millicent Bagnold is working hard to sway neutral families, which complicates things. If we need to, we'll flee abroad and wait for the Dark Lord's return."
Crabbe, a portly man with a hesitant demeanor, spoke up. "I just don't know… My boy's only three. Leaving him and my wife behind…" His voice trailed off.
Goyle, larger and more bullish, nodded in agreement. "That's right. Maybe your brother can reach out to some of the pure-blood families? A lot of people have slipped through the cracks, like Malfoy. How does he manage to—"
"Enough!" Travers barked, cutting him off. His eyes flashed with frustration. "Do you think my life's any easier? Millicent is relentless, and she's got Dumbledore backing her. Do you think they'll just let us live peacefully? They'll drag up every excuse to hunt us down—including the McKinnon mess."
"However, many people say the Dark Lord is already dead. Maybe we could just tell the Ministry of Magic that we were controlled by the Imperius Curse, forced to…" Karkaroff suggested timidly. Despite his tall and bulky frame, his voice wavered as he spoke, earning a sharp glare from Torquil.
Torquil's eyes burned with anger at Karkaroff's suggestion. Standing abruptly, he grabbed Karkaroff by the collar, his fingers tightening around his neck. "The Dark Lord is immortal!" Torquil growled, his voice harsh and unyielding. "Are you trying to betray us?"
"No! That's not what I meant!" Karkaroff stammered, his face pale. "I mean pretend! Just pretend!"
"Pretend?" Torquil sneered, releasing his grip but still glaring. "Do you think the Ministry are fools? You've been on the run, and I've barely avoided being dragged back in myself. Even I, released on bail, have to keep my head down. What makes you think they'd grant you a pardon?"
Torquil turned sharply to Yaxley, who had been silent the whole time. "And you, Yaxley. You've been unusually quiet. What's going on in that scheming mind of yours?"
Yaxley blinked, startled from his thoughts. "Me? Nothing," he replied, though his tone betrayed him. "It's just that when Karkaroff mentioned the crow earlier, it reminded me of someone—an annoying little wizard."
"Alex Wilson?" Torquil's lips twisted into a cruel smirk. "I know all about him."
Yaxley's expression darkened, his face twisting with hatred. "That filthy Mudblood is the reason I'm in this mess. I'll never forgive him for what he did to me!" His fists clenched, his voice thick with rage. Painful memories surfaced—the humiliation, the torture—and the bitterness in his tone was palpable.
"Oh, Sampur mentioned that brat to me just days ago," Torquil said with a venomous edge to his voice. "Apparently, he dared to insult my nephew and trample on the honor of our noble bloodline. He won't get away with it."
Yaxley's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"
Torquil leaned in closer, his voice lowering. "I've had someone investigate him thoroughly. That little pest is currently living with the Longbottoms. Before we leave the UK, we'll take care of him and that old, stubborn family. You'll get your revenge."
"Really?" Yaxley's eyes gleamed with a feral intensity. He had been haunted by nightmares since Alex defeated him, the phantom pain still gnawing at his bones. "I can't wait to see him suffer."
Torquil clapped a hand on Yaxley's shoulder, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "We'll leave no one alive. They're just a bunch of old folks and weaklings. If we can't finish the job, we'll leave together. But before we go, we'll send a clear message: no one crosses us."
Yaxley's expression twisted with malice as he nodded. "Let's do it."
Gore and Crabbe exchanged glances, their faces grim. They understood there was no turning back. With Torquil's plan in place, they reluctantly agreed. Karkaroff, on the other hand, looked utterly miserable. He had thought aligning with the Dark Lord would secure his future. Instead, he was now a fugitive, with no choice but to follow Torquil's lead.