Chapter 327. Sectumsempra!
When Harry and the others had Rita Skeeter pinned down, Adrian Wesson was already riding Rai over the Forbidden Forest.
Devil's Snare poked its tendrils from his sleeve, pointing the way.
Adrian had more or less pieced it together—the man in black had used a rare Dark Arts escape, turning himself into smoke to flee.
Adrian wasn't exactly versed in that branch of Dark magic, but fortunately the spell left a clear trail of magical residue he could follow.
Becoming smoke might not sound especially wicked on its own, but the Devil's Snare had scented an extremely heavy taint of Dark magic in it.
That settled the man's identity—without doubt, a Dark wizard.
Adrian sat astride Rai, looking down at the shadowed forest.
"South-east…"
He narrowed his eyes. Rai understood at once and plunged into the dense canopy.
Branches and leaves slapped Adrian's face; he had to raise an arm to shield himself.
Rai settled on the bough of a giant tree, keen eagle eyes sweeping the surroundings.
Suddenly, the Devil's Snare trembled violently.
"He's close!"
Adrian held his breath; his wand slid soundlessly into his palm.
"Bang!"
A sudden, blinding jet of green light lanced from his rear flank. Adrian twisted aside; the curse grazed his robes and blasted a charred crater in the trunk behind him.
"The Killing Curse?"
Adrian's gaze went cold; his wand snapped toward the direction of the attack.
He'd thought he was dealing with an ordinary Dark wizard—but the moment the Killing Curse appeared, the situation changed.
Plans altered.
He had intended to take the man alive, but now… there was no need to hold back.
"Quick on the uptake, boy." A magically distorted, hoarse voice drifted from all around, edged with mockery.
Adrian knew it was only a cheap trick to split his focus, so he ignored the low-grade distraction and flicked off a silent Stunner.
The spell cut through the undergrowth, only to kick up a scatter of fallen leaves—the target was already gone.
"Skulking about won't do you any good."
Adrian gave a thin smile as the Devil's Snare whipped in a single direction.
With a stench of Dark magic this thick, the Devil's Snare could all but pinpoint the man at once.
The next second, the plant snapped taut—it had caught something.
"Got you!"
Adrian hauled hard through the Devil's Snare.
Riiip—
Cloth tore; a grunt followed. A black figure stumbled out from behind a tree and dropped to his knees. Half his cloak had been ripped away by the Devil's Snare, exposing a strange silver lining beneath.
He was a tall, gaunt man, wearing dark glasses. The Devil's Snare coiled up him like a serpent and, in an instant, had him dangling upside down from a tree three metres off the ground. His wand thudded into the leaves below.
Oddly, the sunglasses seemed glued to his face, completely unmoving.
Adrian vaulted from Rai's back and walked up to the man.
The man struggled for a moment, then, finding he couldn't break the Devil's Snare's hold, went eerily slack.
"Oh, impressive. Could you put me down?" he said.
"?"
Adrian cocked his head, giving him an odd look. It felt as if he'd caught an idiot.
"Let me see your face."
He twitched his wand. An invisible pull tugged at the man's sunglasses.
It went far more smoothly than expected.
With almost no resistance, the sunglasses flew into Adrian's hand.
The face beneath was that of a middle-aged man—pale skin, light-brown eyes, sparse brown brows.
He looked like an unremarkable Ministry clerk, or the owner of a little shop in Hogsmeade—so ordinary he'd vanish the instant you tossed him into a crowd.
"You're…?" Adrian frowned slightly.
"You recognise me?" the man asked, panic-stricken.
"Mm… regrettably… no."
Adrian shook his head. "So—would you like to tell me your name?"
Naturally, it drew no answer.
On learning Adrian hadn't recognised him, the man let out a faint breath of relief.
"All right, if you don't want to, that's fine," Adrian said with a shrug, lifting his wand. "You were hired by that woman Rita Skeeter, weren't you? If you're willing to answer that, so much the better. In return, you can choose: die here, or spend the rest of your life in Azkaban."
The man spoke up at once.
"Don't—don't do anything, sir, I can explain. One day someone came to me and said there was something important to entrust to me, very important, and I knew it was important, so &*&%￥%—"
He rattled on with irrelevant drivel while stealthily sliding his right hand toward his waist.
Adrian, of course, didn't miss a trick like that.
So—
"Sectumsempra!"
His wand carved a vicious arc; an invisible blade flashed through the air.
"Aah—!!"
The man's right hand came off at the wrist, and the spare wand in it fell with a dull thud onto the dead leaves.
He screamed, blood spurting from the stump; his face blanched in an instant.
Adrian let the Devil's Snare release the bindings at the man's feet.
With another shriek, he crashed to the muddy ground and curled up like a wounded beast.
Adrian walked up at an easy pace, his boot grinding a few brittle leaves underfoot.
Looking down at the wretched Dark wizard, he levelled his wand; its tip shimmered with a dangerous red gleam.
"Now," he said icily, "we can have a proper talk."
The man rolled over with difficulty and slumped against the trunk, gasping.
He clamped his left hand over the severed wrist, but blood still seeped between his fingers.
Then, without warning, something changed.
"Kill… kill me…" He suddenly raised his head. A queer light flickered in his eyes; his voice was hollow. "At once… kill me!"
Adrian's pupils tightened.
He knew this state all too well—the mark of the Imperius Curse.
And not just that, but a reinforced, long-term Imperius.
Which meant the man was entirely someone else's puppet—the kind beyond saving.
So who was controlling him?
Rita Skeeter?
No. She didn't have the nerve; she was only a journalist.
Adrian's gaze locked on the inside of the man's left forearm—a blurred black mark was surfacing beneath the skin.
No question—the Dark Mark.
So it did lead back to Lord Voldemort… He fell into thought.
Perhaps taking Adrian's inaction for hesitation—
The tendons in the man's left hand bulged. His fingers clamped his own throat like iron pincers. His face flushed a violent red; his eyes bulged—he meant to choke himself to death.
Watching the madness, a flicker of pity crossed Adrian's eyes.
So—
"Sectumsempra!"
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