It was a pleasant autumn morning for the occupant of Number 10, King's Street on September 2, 2019. Hardly a juvenile population had lived in this lane, because of which the neighborhood of King's Street seemed peaceful and lagged behind in time as if going slower than the city pace. But the old widower, in his late seventies, has been experiencing some curious things. Since last week, every night whenever he pulled down the curtains of the window, which gave an open view of his lawn outside, he felt as if someone gazed him from behind the bushes - all the time. He had even noticed some sparkling eyes watching him from the fences. Though it feels uncomfortable for anyone to be glared continuously by some stranger but at the same time, it was an oddly fascinating stuff for him.

The old Willington had always been attracted to find things around him. And this thing was no different. Whenever he watered the growing saplings in his lawn, he felt a strong temptation to dig the ground and closely observe the earthworms and if lucky, their eggs as well. Quite ridiculous, but for him it was his habit. He also had a great interest in reading thrillers or anecdotes of famous detectives around the globe.

And now because of his instinct, he wished to dig deep down into this mystery to find out who had been watching him all night. And today, he's absolutely ready to do it. Detective Wellington would save the day. Who knows, the stalker might turn out to be a dodging robber or a renowned criminal!

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At 10 pm in the night, a masked man though younger than his age stood outside the House 10 of King's Street. His face was not visible in the dark moonlit street. But familiarity with those dark green eyes could be felt.

Like the past week, he is seeking for the opportunity to strike. He hid himself comfortably in his cloak of Invisibility, his wand held tightly in his hand beneath the cloak.

The old Wellington inside the house, making a pretence of sleeping deeply, somehow felt that something was happening or was going to happen. A chill ran down his spine. He suddenly started feeling numb, though the winter days had not even begun. He felt the presence of someone downstairs, he didn't know how but he suddenly started to feel despair - great deep hopelessness. He was an old man with a fragile body in his late seventies. Even if someone tried to burgle in his house, he didn't have any alternative other than to pretend sleeping, for if that thief gotta know that he was awake, he can meet with the fate of meeting God soon. Whatsoever, he musted up all his courage and took his cane lying near to his bed. He had never felt this much fear accomodating in his body. He felt that he is not going to survive but somehow this old ex-soldier couldn't resist to accept the fact that he had confronted death many a times in his war life. Even if he dies fighting a robber, he wouldn't be condemned, rather would be appreciated that this old buddy died a death fighting an enemy - finally, he'd get the title of a "proclaimed or courageous soldier" (which had been his life-long wish forty years back when he was an afresh young lad, newly recruited in the army.)

Lost in these thoughts, he tried to hear clearly. He could hear slight footsteps near the back door. As he descended from the stairs, he saw everything as normal. The corridor was darker than ever, it was almost impossible to watch for anything. Wellington wondered if he would ever be able to find his spectacles if they got missing in such a dark surrounding. Nonetheless, he progressed forward. His movement could easily be compared to the movement of a soldier, advancing towards the border line with his gun ready to kill - after all he was actually a soldier in his time. As he reached the back door in the kitchen, he saw two figures outside his door. Though it was quite dark, but it could easily be interpreted by even a half blind person that the two people outside were looking opposite to the door. Wellington trembled with fright. Should he go back to his bed and sleep peacefully, wishing that this nightmare could end? Or should he simply shove away his superiority by slamming the door open on those two persons' faces; shove them off that they have walked in the lion's den; shove them that they have taken the wrong decision of robbing in his house, which was no different if compared to a morgue? But Wellington was tempted not to do any of these, rather sneak and listen their conversation for the two persons were talking or should he say, raging a cold war of words.

By the virtue of their heavy voices, it could be understood that the two individuals were males.

"So?"

"Sir, I'd rather say we should go away."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Sir, we cannot do it today, for that damn old man is awake."

"Well, it should be done today. It is the appropriate time not only for you and me but for the Ministress as well"

"Even if I kill that old lad, how'd it help us conquer the position?"

"You do as I say, Wilkins. That is not for you to think, I've got a suitable plan."

Wilkins. Hmmm....it seemed to Wellington as if he had heard that name before.

"Sir, you must explain it to me or else, I shall go away and tell the Ministress about your intentions. I'll not defy her nor the Ministry, which had entrusted in me for so long."

Unable to control his growing rage, he shouted. "Crucio!"

Ahhh....the man suddenly fell to the ground and started to whimper as if experiencing tremendous pain.

"You dare to go against me, Wilkins! Speak out then, what has the Ministry ever given to you, huh? What have you got in return for working under that Mudblood? You've got a respectable position in the Ministry. How? Because of me, if you work for me you'll soon be the Minister of Magic as we kill that damn woman. And even if you intend to tell that lady Minister about me and my plans, I assure you, Wilkins, you won't be alive for long to tell that to her."

As he lifted the incantation, the man sighed with relief. But the traces of the fear and pain could be easily felt in his lost voice as he spoke, fighting the temptation to keep back his tears.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm mistaken, forgive me."

"I hope to make myself clear, Wilkins. That Muggle woman's murder was quite easy. She took pills to sleep every night. As she took the pill, she broke into fast sleep. So she wasn't able to know that we were there to kill her. That day is not far when we'd have achieved what we have been wanting since a long time."

"Sure, Sir. I'll not break away the promise."

"You cannot and you shouldn't, Wilkins. The unbreakable vow would ensure that. Now you know what to do, Wilkins. That old damn Wellington is eavesdropping."

Wellington was completely shaken at the mention of his name. But before he could react or even think anything, the door was slammed open.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light erupted from the wand and directed towards Wellington. It hit him in the chest squarely. It was painless and done in an instant. The tightly gripped cane fell from Wellington's loose hand as he fell to the ground, never to wake up.

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At 11 pm, Hermione reached where she was supposed to be. She hadn't met Ron since a day and hadn't even talked to him. He must be worrying, she thought. She'll soon meet him after it.

As she Apparated to the Number 10, King's Street, she could smell the fragrance of the asters from the lawn. But beyond it, she sensed as if something was wrong. The house address, as mentioned in the letter she was given the day before, was mysteriously quiet. She felt numb out of cold or fear, she didn't know. As she saw the front door was open, her instinct said that something wrong had already happened and that, she had arrived too late. The door was open and the corridor beyond it was dark though it was a moonlit night, as experienced outside on the street.

As she reached the kitchen, she saw a person lying near the back door. Oh no! She had been late, too late. She couldn't take it in. A man was lying dead on the floor and what she's doing? That damn murderer had finally proved her inefficiency and
unaccountability, not publicly but Hermione had understood it on her own. She felt humiliated. Who was responsible for these murders? The one to be held answerable for these deaths, specifically by the critics and the Daily Prophet, would be the Ministress herself. Hermione felt herself strangled to a life-threatening situation. This old Wellington got killed, because she didn't reach on time even when she had got the information about it in advance. She would not let that murderer strike again. She's not gonna let him or her kill an innocent just for the sake to hurt her character. No, she's not going to let these events happen again.

As she watched the old Wellington lying there - she wondered how he had been killed. Beneath those open yet shocked eyes of Wellington, she could easily feel that he had went through something horrible sometime ago; for he had absolutely witnessed the Unforgivable Curse. Hermione put her hand on his eyes and closed them gently. She started thinking - why had the murderer killed Marrietta and Wellington only? What was his relation with them? And why should he bring them to death? When would he be striking next and whom would he strangle to death after them? Hermione didn't know - for those letters were the last hope.

Condemn it or avenge it?
Both. I'll do both.

She broke into tears.