Flame, driven by a screaming gale, carved a blazing path straight ahead. Theo strode through the fire; it parted for him like courtiers, and the searing white tongues devoured every Inferius that dared block the way—ashen in an instant.
The road cleared.
He reached the shop door in three strides and kicked.
Boom.
The door—and the whole frame with it—ripped free, spun like a wheel, and smashed inward.
Florean Fortescue, dazed by the ocean of fire boiling outside, had only enough time to register a growing rectangle of wood before it hit him square on and launched him across the floor.
Inside, Hermione—eyes wet, breath hitching—stared at the figure in the doorway.
"Theo?"
For a heartbeat she thought the heat had conjured a mirage. Then Theo's arm slid behind her shoulders and lifted her to her feet, and reality rushed back.
"You're here—you saved me. I thought I was going to—"
Joy crashed into dread as she glanced past him at the wildfire outside.
"The flames… what do we do now? Theo, go—there are more people out there. I'll try to hold it back—Aguamenti!"
Her little stream hissed uselessly against the inferno. Theo sighed.
This girl—shaking a moment ago, now bracing to stay behind and cover the retreat. If the Sorting Hat were here, it would hand her Gryffindor's Sword on the spot. No wonder canon never put her in Ravenclaw: courage first, brilliance second—and both exceptional.
He ruffled her hair lightly. "Easy. I've got you."
He snapped his fingers.
Outside, the rampaging fire bent as if bowing to its king, funneling toward Theo's outstretched hand and condensing into a constellation of tight, white-hot fireballs. One sweep of the staff sent them howling back through the windows. Wherever they landed, the stragglers among the Inferi burst into pure, drifting ash.
"See?" Theo smiled. "All clear."
Hermione stared at his profile, dazed. So this is Theo at full tilt? Terrifying. And—she flushed—ridiculously cool. Only then did she realise he still had an arm under her knees. Heat flooded her cheeks.
A pained groan rose from beneath the fallen door.
Florean Fortescue crawled out from under the frame. The heavy blow had jarred something loose; the Imperius glaze was gone from his eyes, replaced by bewildered clarity.
"I… what happened?!"
Theo's brows pinched; he lifted his staff to finish the job. Hermione, sensing the intent, blurted, "Don't—Theo, he was Imperiused. He didn't know what he was doing."
Pity softened her voice. "He's old. I don't know how much damage an Unforgivable's after-effects will leave. He's always kind—on my first trip he gave me a free butter ice cream and a honey lemonade. He's respected. This is… awful."
The surname clicked. In canon, Fortescue had been abducted and murdered after Voldemort's return—later hints said it was because he knew too much about ancient magic and the Elder Wand. As a descendant of former Headmaster Dexter Fortescue, that tracked. And Theo needed ancient-magic leads; his archaic staff resonated best with it, and a month of riffling histories had come up dry.
Useful, then. He stayed his hand.
"Still, let's make sure the Imperius has fully bled off. Stupefy."
A red bolt—Florean slumped, breathing evenly.
Hermione drew a shaky breath. "What a horrible day. Whoever did this—Azkaban—they'll rot in Azkaban."
Theo shook his head slightly. Would Azkaban hold Voldemort? Unlikely. The Dementors would probably bow and offer their services.
And to be fair, the extra month Voldemort had waited after Theo's goblin-vault incident hadn't been wasted. Even with Gringotts at maximum alert, the breach had been brutal and fast.
As Theo weighed the mess, a dragon of black flame punched through Gringotts' domed roof. A cloud of oily smoke billowed out after it. A heartbeat later, a barrage of spellfire cracked the air—Aurors had arrived. goblins, eyes red with wrath, poured their own magic into the storm. Greed could be eclipsed by insult.
"Thief!"
"Robber!"
"No one robs Gringotts and leaves whole!"
Voldemort hadn't planned on cooperation between Aurors and goblins. He'd burned precious strength raising a hundred Inferi. He'd Imperiused Fortescue to bait as many school-age witches and wizards into lines for a "promotion day." All to pin the Ministry.
So where were the Inferi now?
The smoke curled—and Voldemort saw the streets carpeted in ash where Theo had fought. His gaze (if smoke could be said to have one) swung and locked onto the stunned Fortescue inside the parlour… and the boy with a staff.
A child did this?
A crooked smile twisted in the soot. "Dumbledore, you think I don't see through you?"
The residual signatures screamed the Fire-God's Path—Dumbledore's hallmark—only clumsier, throttled low. A decoy, then. Put the boy out front while you hide in the back room?
"Old man, your heart is filthy. I'm not biting."
The smoke sheared away and vanished down an alley, speed spiking.
Theo had felt that cold attention and raised his guard. Even diminished, this Voldemort wasn't the withered, failing thing that couldn't manage a first-year Harry in canon; the month's difference had mattered.
He'd braced for a clash that didn't come. Voldemort veered off. Theo exhaled—part relief, part regret—and looked over the wrecked Alley.
Then the System flooded his vision with golden text.
You and young Deng Chanyu survived a demonic blood-sacrifice together; shared peril deepened your bond.
Your relationship with young Deng Chanyu has reached — Life-and-Death.
Reward acquired — Five-Colour Stone Method.
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