Chapter 87: Chapter 87: Hunting Shadows

A falcon circled high above the English countryside, its keen eyes scanning the vast estate below. Manicured lawns stretched like emerald carpets around a mansion that looked more castle than home—stone towers and Gothic windows speaking of old money and older secrets.

The falcon circled lower, studying the place with predatory patience. Security cameras dotted the perimeter like mechanical eyes, their lenses tracking in slow, predictable arcs. Armed guards patrolled the grounds in patterns that screamed military training.

The bird completed another circuit, memorizing every detail. Then it descended toward the mansion’s highest tower. With practiced ease, it landed on the stone battlements and surveyed the area.

No guards on the roof. No cameras at this elevation. No witnesses to what came next.

Perfect.

Bones cracked and reformed. Feathers dissolved into flesh. Wings became arms.

Arthur Hayes crouched on the mansion’s roof, his Animagus transformation complete.

Yes, with the ongoing recovery of his magic, he had relearned his Animagus transformation. The ability had even returned stronger than before.

His altered magical core had given enhancements to the Animagus form too. Where normal Animagi were limited to their animal’s natural abilities, Arthur could now Apparate while transformed—vanishing and reappearing like a phoenix across impossible distances.

The Space Stone had left its mark in ways he was still discovering.

Coming to why Arthur was here in this remote countryside mansion—revenge.

Seven days since he’d faced Voldemort at the MI6 compound. Seven days since he’d plucked three names from Director Morrison’s mind using the lightest touch of Legilimency she’d never detect. Names of people who were very likely responsible for the attack on his home so many years ago and the deaths of his parents.

Lord Ravenscar. Lord Greycairn. Lord Ashridge.

His investigation had revealed their identities: the current Marquess of Ravenscar, Marquess of Greycairn, and Earl of Ashridge. Powerful men with noble titles and generational wealth, their hands dipped in every dark corner of British society.

These names had been unfamiliar to Arthur—he was hearing them for the first time. They never appeared in public, never graced newspaper society pages, never allowed their faces to be photographed. But as Arthur investigated secretly, using resources both magical and mundane, he discovered they were extraordinarily wealthy with fingers dipped in every shadowy sector.

Arms dealing. Human trafficking. Political assassination. Corporate espionage.

This proved to Arthur that they were not good people, and the chances were very high that they were responsible for the deaths of his parents.

Right now he stood on the roof of Ravenscar mansion. The Marquess was the oldest of the three, the most senior in both age and rank. Arthur felt he would have the most answers—and the most guilt to extract.

Arthur pulled out his invisibility cloak, the Deathly Hallow settling around his shoulders like familiar shadow. Then he raised his hands, golden energy dancing between his fingers.

The stone beneath his feet separated with surgical precision, creating a perfectly round opening. Arthur floated down through the gap, mystic arts keeping him silent as a ghost. Above him, the roof tiles flowed back together seamlessly.

Ravenscar mansion’s interior matched its imposing exterior—dark wood paneling, oil paintings of stern ancestors, the kind of oppressive wealth that crushed souls for sport.

Arthur moved through corridors lined with security cameras, each device sliding past his invisible form without triggering. Guards patrolled with military precision, but they were watching for mundane threats.

They had no idea a wizard moved among them.

After ten minutes of careful exploration, Arthur found his target.

Lord Ravenscar sat in his private study, a man in his seventies with silver hair and cold blue eyes. He was reading a leather-bound book, brandy snifter within easy reach.

Arthur scanned the room thoroughly. No cameras here—the old aristocrat valued his privacy. Thick stone walls would muffle any sound.

Time for answers.

Arthur stepped out of the shadows, dropping his invisibility. His wand appeared in his hand with practiced ease.

“Stupefy.”

The spell struck Ravenscar before the old man could even look up. He slumped forward in his chair, the book tumbling to the floor.

Arthur approached slowly, studying the unconscious lord. This man had orchestrated his parents’ murder. Had ordered their deaths like requesting afternoon tea.

Arthur pointed his wand at Ravenscar’s temple, his voice barely a whisper.

“Legilimens.”

The world dissolved into memory.

—

Arthur plunged deep into decades of crime and greed. Lord Ravenscar’s mind was a labyrinth of corruption—bribes and blackmail, illegal arms deals, human trafficking networks. The old bastard had spent his entire life dancing on the edge of the law, using wealth and connections to escape consequences.

But there was more.

Arthur dug deeper, following threads of memory toward older sins. He found what he was looking for in a conversation from the 1940s.

Young Ravenscar knelt before a man in Nazi uniform.

“Hail Hydra,” the boy whispered.

His father smiled coldly. “Good. You understand our true allegiance.”

Of course. Hydra connections explained everything—how this family had survived so long, accumulated such wealth, avoided justice for so many crimes.

Arthur pushed further into Ravenscar’s memories, hunting for the year 1987.

There—

November 1987

A younger Ravenscar sat behind the same desk, listening to his assistant’s report.

“Hayes refused again, my Lord. The man has no ambition—wants to live quietly with his family.”

Ravenscar’s fingers drummed against polished wood. “A man with his investment skills is destined for more than domestic bliss. Send someone again. Threaten him if necessary. No one refuses me.”

“Yes, my Lord. Also, people from Lord Greycairn and Lord Ashridge visited him recently. From what I learned, he declined them as well.”

“Really?” Ravenscar’s eyebrows rose. “This Hayes is asking for trouble. Give him one last chance.”

The memory shifted. December 1987 now.

Ravenscar sat across from two other men in an oak-paneled room. Arthur recognized them from his invetigations—Lord Greycairn and Lord Ashridge.

“Hayes still refuses,” Ravenscar growled. “The man has a death wish.”

Greycairn swirled amber liquid in his glass. “Stubborn fool.”

Ashridge smirked. “What do you propose?”

“Simple.” Ravenscar’s voice turned cold. “Since he wants a quiet life, we’ll give him one. But in the afterlife.”

—

Another memory. This one hurt to watch.

A dimly lit office. Ravenscar handed a thick file to a man in military dress.

“Make it clean,” Ravenscar instructed. “A robbery gone wrong. Kill the family—leave no witnesses who might identify the real motive.”

—

Arthur’s hands trembled as the next memory unfolded.

The three lords meeting again, weeks later.

“Hayes is dead,” Ravenscar reported. “But there’s a complication—his boy survived. I don’t know how. It is too secretive and MI6 is involved.”

Greycairn frowned. “I stopped their investigation through parliamentary channels. But we need to finish the job, or we’re leaving trouble for the future.”

“Agreed,” Ashridge nodded. “The child must be eliminated.”

“It’s troublesome,” Ravenscar admitted. “He lives with an MI6 agent now. I hear rumors of supernatural involvement.”

“Then we must be careful,” Greycairn decided. “Take out the boy before he grows up.”

More memories flooded through—surveillance reports and missed opportunities. Ravenscar’s operatives had tried to find an opening, but the MI6 guard around Arthur had been constant and professional. Then the boy had disappeared entirely.

Arthur watched the crucial memory unfold. An operative reporting to Ravenscar about the target’s vanishing.

“The Hayes boy has disappeared, my Lord. No trace for months.”

Ravenscar barely looked up from his financial reports. “Good. Handle the cleanup. I don’t want loose ends.”

The operative hesitated. “Sir, we haven’t actually—”

“I said handle it.” Ravenscar waved dismissively, already focused on other matters.

The operative had left, and Ravenscar had simply assumed the job was done. He’d been too busy with arms deals and Hydra connections to follow up properly.

Arthur realized the terrifying truth—he’d escaped death through sheer miscommunication. Had Ravenscar’s people actually found him during those early Hogwarts years, the young Arthur would have had no chance. Accidental magic couldn’t be relied upon against professional killers.

—

Arthur pulled his wand back from Ravenscar’s temple. The unconscious lord looked peaceful in his chair—an old man enjoying an afternoon read.

There in front of him sat one of the perpetrators of his parents’ deaths. His revenge was so close.

It would be so easy. One whispered curse. Ravenscar would die thinking he’d simply dozed off with his book.

Arthur raised his wand, magic crackling along its length.

Then he stopped.

Killing Ravenscar now would be unwise. He knew this already. The Covenant between wizards and Muggles hung over Arthur’s head like a sword.

Once magic was used to kill him, or if his death couldn’t be explained through normal means, supernatural involvement would be suspected. If there was any shred of evidence linking Arthur to the crime, he would face trial by a combined panel of wizards and mundanes.

Arthur had read the Covenant thoroughly and knew he couldn’t act recklessly now. He needed a foolproof way of eliminating the three influential Lords while ensuring it couldn’t be traced back to him.

He needed a better plan. Something that would let him take all three without raising alarms. Something that would give him the complete revenge his parents deserved.

Arthur waved his hand, golden energy flowing from his fingertips. Ravenscar’s recent memories blurred, burying deep beneath layers of mundane thoughts. The old man would remember reading and having tea. Nothing more.

Arthur stepped back, studying the unconscious murderer one last time.

“Soon,” he whispered.

Then golden energy flowed through his hands again, and all signs of magic were cleared from the room. Now even wizarding detection methods wouldn’t find any trace of his presence.

After ensuring nothing was amiss, Arthur opened a portal and stepped through, returning home.

Next, he needed to pay the other lords visits too. He had to understand their backing and connections to make a comprehensive plan—one that would eliminate all three while protecting him from any fallout.

The hunt was just beginning.

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