77

Andrew Smith was a proud pureblood, a man that was deserving of his magic. Unlike the worthless garbage that filled their world now, he could trace his family tree eight generations easily. This was why it was unfair he ended up as a mere shop owner with a balding head, without even a girlfriend to share his life with.

The world owed him, and he wanted to get it. So he barely get three OWLs and failed to succeed in any of his NEWT exams. It was that muggle-loving Dumbledore that was responsible, sabotaging the true purebloods like him so he could gift their magical heritage to mudbloods and muggles.

It was why Andrew celebrated when he heard the news of Dumbledore's death … and finally made the bravest decision of his life and joined the pureblood cause, to serve their true lord who had overcome death.

And now, he had just apparated into a nice opening, and met with eight hooded figures with skull masks. Death Eaters, he thought, pride welling inside him for sharing the same robes as them. They were about to make a point.

Of course, Andrew was a bit bummed when he realized their first target was a defenseless muggle village. He would have loved to go and raid a smug muggleborn, like that bastard Tonks who dared to seduce the great Andromeda Black somehow despite Andrew's best efforts to seduce her — Andrew suspected love potions, how else Andromeda could even stomach touching her lesser — but his recruiter didn't allow him that.

Luckily, he wasn't forbidden from doing that. He just needed to prove himself first in a muggle village, to show he had the necessary viciousness to defend their way of life. And, it wasn't like muggles were innocent.

They were the ones stealing the pureblood magic to spawn more and more muggleborns and invade their world. That was what Andrew believed, no matter what everyone else said. They stole his magic … otherwise, how they could explain Andrew struggling to cast any advanced spell no matter how much he worked.

"Surround the village, and we're going to hit at the same time. Let's make sure we can disappear before the blood traitors could arrive to save the animals," one of the Death Eaters said. Andrew didn't know his name, of course, as until they could take the ministry, the identity of their brothers was to stay hidden.

They didn't trust the ministry not to use illegal magics on their brothers to steal the identity of the others, so it was a reasonable trick.

Andrew walked toward the location they had shown, feeling a bit frustrated that they had to work that hard to attack a bunch of useless animals without magic. But, with the orders coming from higher-ups, he had to follow — at least until he could prove himself…

He took his position, waiting for the order. He wasn't particularly comfortable in the forest he was waiting, but he was willing to suffer it for their great cause —

"Was that signal," he murmured as he noticed a flash of light at the other side of the village, but he ignored that. They were clear that the signal would arrive when their dark mark — the biggest achievement of his life — would feel warm, allowing them to launch their attack at the same with the other operations.

Another flash.

"Maybe someone is feeling enthusiastic," he reasoned, as another flash, this time clearly a flash of lightning, burst somewhere close to him. As he realized that, he started walking forward. It was the greatest opportunity of his life.

He had no intention of missing this opportunity to shine. As he moved forward, another flash, this time flames, burst forward, showing that he certainly made the correct decision. He wasn't the only one that ignored his orders.

He didn't like the necessity to run forward, but their warnings were clear. No apparition, or any other magical travel other than the portkeys they used in and out.

Just a few more steps, and he would be able to see the village proper, joining the massacre —

His thoughts were interrupted once more, this time by an intense pain, one that hit him from his back. The only reason he understood the reason was the tongues of dark flames, hugging his clothes, quickly eating his clothing.

As he fell back, he barely saw the figure responsible for his pain. He was already walking away, dismissing Andrew as inconsequential yet again.

The last thing he saw was his cloak, marked with the Grindelwald's Alliance. He wanted to ask why a follower of another Dark Lord would attack him, but the darkness took him before he could do so…

Corban Yaxley was busier than ever with work … which was not something he enjoyed doing. Letting the half-blood secretaries do all the work while he took the credit was more to his taste than actually doing the work, a pattern that he got used since the previous fall of his lord.

Unfortunately, his resurrection had ruined the little corner they had built themselves. He didn't want that, and he knew he wasn't the only one. Under Lucius' power, they did their best to ensure that none would resurrect the Dark Lord.

But they failed. Who would have guessed that one of that damnable Potter's friend was not only a traitor, but also he was stupid enough to go and resurrect their lord without their knowledge? But with the resurrection already completed and Dumbledore dead, there was no chance to reverse things.

Of course, it was not any kind of ethical concern that made him regret the resurrection. No, he didn't like the pain of Cruciatus. He would kill hundreds of muggles just to avoid the pain … which was why he worked hard and pulled a lot of favors to actually end up managing the muggle raids.

Muggles didn't have the capability to fight against magic, which made it an easy mission. More importantly, he worked for Auror Office, which meant he knew exactly how they would respond to such an event, allowing him to arrange the attack perfectly, the next one happening just as the previous one was being resolved, timed perfectly to a fake alarm to a magical location.

With Aurors prioritizing magical lives even with no apparent threat, the attack would go perfectly, even when using the bunch of useless recruits with delusions of grandeur, thinking that killing a few muggles somehow would make them important.

Yaxley didn't bother informing them otherwise, not when their delusions of grandeur allowed Yaxley to rise in the ranks while doing very little… He didn't care about muggles one way or another, but if Dark Lord was happy with them dead, Yaxley was happily arranging it.

Then, he was distracted by a knock on the door. His assistant, here to inform him about the success of the attack. But before he could order him to enter, there was another knock on the door. Yaxley frowned, and decided to keep them waiting.

He didn't like disobedient subordinates.

His frown only deepened when the door opened without him allowing them. "How dare you enter without my permission," he growled, already throwing a Cruciatus.

Watching him wriggle on the ground helped him feel better. He could understand why his lord preferred it as punishment. "Now, what was that important," he asked smugly while his assistant gasped on the floor.

It took a minute for him to answer. "T-the attack, sir," he gasped. "I-it failed."

"What do you mean, failed?" Yaxley gasped. "How hard is it to kill a bunch of muggles. Even a bunch of shopkeepers shouldn't fail. They have magic, for Merlin's sake!"

"D-dead," he stammered, and Yaxley kicked him.

"Explain faster, you spawn of a squib. How the attack could fail if the muggles are dead."

"N-not muggles," he gasped. "The new recruits."

And just like that, his jovial mode disappeared. "How!"

"A-another G-grinderwald's Acolyte," he gasped, and Yaxley froze, realizing the depths of trouble he was in. It was not his fault that a madman worshipping a failed old wizard attacked one of his teams.

Yaxley felt the heat radiating off his dark mark. A chill covered his heart. "Tell me, how many are lost."

"F-five," he stammered.

Yaxley kicked him again. "Next time, speak faster," he growled as he apparated to his lord. Five deaths were not too hard to explain, especially among the new recruits.

"My lord. The mission hit a little snag, but nothing to worry about."

"A little snag, Yaxley, you disappoint me!" Dark Lord shouted, and suddenly, Yaxley was hit with another torture curse, his mind blank — just not enough to prevent him from hearing Dark Lord's next words. "Five teams, lost to the last man, in the hands of an Acolyte, and you dare to dismiss it like nothing. You're either a traitor, or a useless man. Either, you can't be left alive while I go and visit that useless old wizard in prison and teach his followers a lesson about daring to target me."

Yaxley wanted to answer, to beg for his life … but it was too late.

The last thing he saw was a green flash…