Alan, fully prepared, used a superb Levitation Charm to glide to a third-floor window facing the small living area, opening it easily with a quiet Alohomora. Inside the frame, faint, high-frequency magical pulses flickered continuously, indicating that the warning wards were active. Unfortunately for the residents, their master was currently drifting in a drug-induced stupor.
The scrying mirror above the living room was spinning rapidly and emitting a sharp light, signaling an illegal intrusion. With practiced ease, Alan cast a Freezing Charm on it, silencing the device.
Once inside, Alan moved with surgical efficiency. He used Alohomora to enter the first bedroom, ignoring the flashing warning lights of the internal magic. He walked directly to the bed, confiscated the Death Eater's wand, and followed up with a Mobilicorpus to bind the man securely. He then threw the window wide for ventilation; the ether needed to dissipate quickly, as the concentrated fumes posed a significant combustion risk.
After clearing all five bedrooms, Alan moved the unconscious men to the second floor and drew the heavy curtains. Only then did he take the time to methodically dismantle the house's warning system.
These five seemed to have inhaled a heavy dose of ether. Despite being moved and bound, they showed no signs of stirring. A quick pulse check confirmed they were all alive, which was essential for his upcoming plans. He spent nearly half an hour deactivating the lingering jinxes and thoroughly flushing the air with magic. Finally, he cast multiple Shield Charms on the living room, ensuring that whatever screams occurred later would not drift into the street.
Alan checked his pocket watch. "Exactly midnight. Time is tight. I must finish everything before six in the morning."
With his endgame in mind, he approached the heap of fugitives. He produced a pair of weighted brass knuckles and delivered a series of sharp, precise blows to their pressure points, jolting them into consciousness.
"Ah!!!" Successive cries of pain echoed through the room.
The group was shocked awake by the stinging agony. In the dim, flickering shadows, they exchanged panicked glances. They had been asleep; how had they ended up on the living room floor? They struggled to rise, only to find themselves bound by heavy magical chains that bit into their skin.
Suddenly, a bright orb of light manifested on the ceiling, illuminating the room with clinical intensity. The sudden glare stung their eyes, forcing them to squint until they could adapt. As their vision cleared, they heard the metallic clink of instruments being arranged.
"Sorry," a voice emerged from the light, calm and conversational. "I forgot you couldn't see in the dark. I only just remembered to light a lamp for you."
Karkaroff blinked, finally seeing a handsome, dark-haired boy standing nearby. On a small table beside the boy was a collection of items that made his blood run cold: pliers, slender metal probes connected to a dial, several reinforced chains, a large-bore syringe, and several unlabeled glass vials.
"Who are you? Why are you doing this? Release me at once! Help!" Even Karkaroff, slow as he was, realized he was in grave danger. He began to thrash and shout for aid.
"It's you! How did you find us? This is a private residence!" Yaxley roared, his eyes bloodshot as he recognized Alan. "You're dead! Trespassing on Travers property? You'll rot in Azkaban for this!"
"Enough, Yaxley," Torquil Travers interrupted, his voice surprisingly steady. He fixed his gaze on Alan, his mind racing. "Can't you see the boy came prepared? Screaming is a waste of breath." He looked at Alan and managed a cold chuckle. "Alan Wilson. We met at King's Cross, didn't we? Tell me, what is it you want?"
"Finally, someone with a brain. I found this place thanks to Yaxley—seeing as you've kept him so well-fed and rested, I'm relieved. As for what I want... well, why don't you try to guess?" Alan didn't pause his work, continuing to extract tools from his spatial pouch and arranging them with terrifying neatness.
"You brought him here?" Hearing Alan's words, Goyle and Crabbe turned glares of pure fury toward Yaxley.
"I didn't! He's lying!" Yaxley shrieked. "Don't believe a word this Mudblood says!"
"Don't let him bait you!" Torquil barked. He turned back to Alan, his lip curling. "I admit you're bold, boy. You bypassed the wards and caught us off guard. You're doing this for your friend Charles, aren't you? Revenge for the McKinnons? Listen to me—"
"Is that what you think?" Alan chuckled, finally turning around. "If it were just about revenge, you would have died an hour ago. The reason I've kept you breathing is much more practical."
Alan stepped into the center of the room. "On one hand, I have a few questions that require honest answers. On the other... I've been running low on live experimental subjects. I'm afraid I'll have to trouble the five of you to fill that void."
He offered them a thin, unsettling smile.
"What do you want to know?" Torquil asked, secretly trying to manifest his magic. He was skilled in wandless casting, but his lungs burned with every breath. The ether had left him weak, and Alan's earlier strike had disrupted his focus. He just needed to stall.
"Do you really think Death Eaters like you would give me an honest answer just because I asked nicely?" Alan looked amused by Torquil's subtle tensing. "And stop trying to reach for your magic. If you manage to cast so much as a spark, I'll admit defeat."
Seeing his opening, Torquil abandoned the talk. His lips moved in a silent, rapid chant. He refused to believe a schoolboy who had relied on a sneak attack could stand against him in a direct mental or magical struggle. Beside him, Goyle and Crabbe followed suit, mumbling their own incantations.
Alan gave them no time to finish. He lunged forward, his brass-knuckled fist blurring as he struck each of them across the jaw. The sudden, explosive pain shattered their concentration, sending their half-formed magic dissipating into the air.