Darker Days

"Good afternoon," said a blond witch with immaculate posture. "I see you are as punctual as ever."

Harry yanked his robes, shedding the thin layer of soot that had accumulated there across his Floo trip, and faced the lady of the house. Astoria Greengrass was a proper pureblooded woman— which was to say, as outwardly unexpressive as Harry himself. She smiled politely as she greeted him in her home, but Harry didn't fool himself with thinking that meant anything. If she were overjoyed, apathetic, or murderous over the sight of him, that expression wouldn't change a wit.

"Is Draco home?" Harry asked.

"Of course," said Astoria. "He's preoccupied with a spot of work at the moment. Can the elves get you anything?"

She gestured at an open seat as she spoke, offering it to him.

"I'm alright," Harry said. "I'll wait here."

"Very well," Astoria said.

They stood there then, the both of them, in nice robes with good posture and without saying a word. Harry studied the room.

A lot of intention had gone into what few things decorated it. There were chairs, one couch, and a single coffee table placed within reach of all three seats. A large window looked off a cliff down to relentless waves beating the shore. The place was pretty, yet austere. The furniture was expensive, yet forced. Harry thought the house did an awfully good job providing the illusion of a home.

"Do you like it?" Astoria caught his eyes roving the space. "I did the decorating myself."

"It wasn't furnished?" Harry asked.

"Not the way that we needed. It was only a vacation home for the Malfoys, before. But it was the best option to give us a little bit of space. And Draco does so love the view."

Harry just nodded.

A door swung open somewhere down the hall. "Come along," came Draco's voice, delivering the words as a sharp order.

Draco Malfoy entered the room paler than usual. He wore immaculate emerald dress robes with a ruffled collar, a matching green tie sitting at a lopsided angle on his neck. His fingers still fought with the upper buttons. Bruises peaked out on the side of his neck. He was breathing hard, and Harry didn't think it was from the short walk.

"Harry!" Draco greeted, a wide smile blossoming. "Didn't wait long, I hope?"

"Your tie is crooked," Harry informed him.

"And yours is straight. I don't know which of those things is more surprising."

Instead of continuing Draco's banter, Harry looked past him. The Malfoy heir had not arrived alone.

A blond girl their age stood there. She was exceptionally physically gifted, especially around the chest. She wore cheap robes that seemed to have been clumsily thrown over her shoulders, leaving a large amount of cleavage bared. She was as pale and sweaty as Draco, but completely lacked his satisfied expression. She lacked any expression at all. Her eyes were cloudy.

The Imperius Curse. A bad one.

"Who?" Harry asked.

Draco looked behind him. His eyes darted back and forth between Harry and the stranger, before widening.

"Right!" he said. "I guess you wouldn't know her. Harry, meet Lavender Brown. She was a Gryffindor in our— well, in my year."

That out of the way, Harry could get to the real question.

"Why?"

Draco looked confused, still smiling. "Why what? Why is she here? She was a gift. Nott gave her to me, purchased straight from the Emporium. He's always been a good mate."

Harry glanced at Astoria. Draco's wife observed the room the same way she had been since he arrived. Perfect etiquette, zero emotion.

"Father sent you to collect me, right?" Draco crossed the room, fixing his tie and robes on the way. He clapped Harry on the shoulder, joining him by the fireplace. "No reason to wait, right? Wouldn't want to be late."

Harry turned away, putting his back to the room before he answered.

"Let's go," he said.

While Draco was still nodding, Harry pinched enough Floo Powder for two and turned the flames a bright shade of green.

"Have fun Dear," Harry heard Astoria telling Draco. He was gone before ever hearing Draco's response.

Harry reappeared in a room clearly designed for crowds. He stumbled exiting the fireplace, but quickly caught himself and took a few steps forward. Other wizards were doing the same on either side of him, stepping out of five identical fireplaces set up in a line. Draco appeared from the same one Harry had, looking up and taking a few quick steps to catch up with him.

Thin gray lines were painted on the marble floor, creating lanes for emerging wizards to follow. They all led the same place— a door big enough to fit two trolls side-by-side, with gold trim around the edges. At the top were the words, Pettigrew's All-Purpose Emporium.

"It's been ages since last I got down here," Draco said to Harry as they walked through the doors. "Not since before the wedding. Really, I missed this."

"What do you like about it?" Harry asked him.

Draco looked at him like he was a nutter. "What's not to like?"

"The crowds, for one," Harry murmured.

Wizards were on all sides of them, funneling down the same hallway lit by conjured floating torches. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Must you be so dramatic? It's only for a few minutes and— there we are, our stop is here already."

They cut diagonally across the tide, toward a side exit guarded by two large wizards. It should have been difficult with so many bodies in the way, but the moment people spotted Harry's limp they cleared the way. Draco smirked as those in their path parted. Harry remained stoic.

"Mr. Goyle, Mr. Crabbe," Draco greeted, inclining his head. "Great to see you."

The bulky wizards smiled. Neither were men of many words, just like their sons, but they nonetheless performed good work. It was the reason the Malfoys remained so close to them.

"They're waiting for you," Goyle Sr. announced in a growly voice.

Harry and Draco walked between them, climbing a set of stairs that angled up steeply to cover multiple floors worth of elevation. Draco, already somewhat sweaty when they arrived, was soon breathing hard. He didn't complain about their slow pace as Harry was forced to plant both boots on each step, elevating himself only with his good right leg.

When they emerged, it was into a single room worth more than some pureblood manors.

Five lavish seats were set behind a low balcony. Each had a cover woven from Acromantula silk, layered with enough charms to turn a stone as soft as a mattress. Curtains woven from golden threads hung above the banister. Set behind the seats was a low bar with shelves of aged firewhisky. A goblin stood atop a stool, pouring drinks in a personalized twin-tail suit. The smell of alcohol mixed with the aroma of polished wood. Draco and Harry were immediately beset by two men, each in tailored robes at least as nice as their own.

One walked with a cane despite having no visible limp. He had the same hair as Draco, except his fell past his shoulders. Lucius had the smile of a man who spent too much time smirking, causing him to forget how to offer a truly warm expression, although he was trying now. His robes were the same shade of green as Draco's.

The other man also had blond hair, but his was much whiter, with perhaps a bit of gray mixed in. It was also tied into a neat braid instead of hanging loose. His smile looked much more natural than Lucius's, appearing truly warm and welcoming. That made Harry trust him less.

"Draco! Harry!" greeted Lucius. "Words can't express how thrilled I am to see you make it. This auction is going to be even better than last year's, mark my words."

While Lucius spoke, the man with him held his hand out to Harry.

"Corban Yaxley," he introduced himself in a velvety voice. "You've no idea how badly I've wanted to meet you, Mr. Potter."

"I believe we've met many times," Harry said, accepting the hand.

They shook then, eyeing each other over the top of the gesture.

"I don't count those meetings," Yaxley said. "What I mean is that I wanted to meet the man underneath the hood. Not the one I fought with, but the one I live with now, in the world we forged, where speaking the truth doesn't mean we must fear the light of day. I wanted to meet Lord Potter, properly, in a world of purebloods. And now… I have."

He squeezed Harry's hand. Harry did not squeeze back. They broke the gesture a moment later, before it dragged on.

"He tells the truth," Lucius said. "You would not believe how eager he has been for me to arrange this. I hope the two of you get along well— oh, but I know that you will."

"Come on and take a seat, boys," Yaxley said. "But don't forget to grab a drink first."

Draco picked a tall glass of four-decade-aged firewhisky. Harry got a shot of butterbeer, a drink only intended to be used as a mixer based on the way the goblin sneered at him as he ordered it. They settled into two of the five seats, Harry ending up between Draco and Yaxley.

"How much do you know of my work?" Yaxley asked.

Harry sipped his drinks. Their private seats were all the way at the top of an auditorium that was rapidly filling to bursting. All the way at the bottom, a stage shielded by emerald curtains was being worked on by three wizards, waving their wands to ensure the charms on it were in proper order.

"It has been of fantastic use to our master," Harry answered.

"Of course, but that goes without saying," Yaxley said. "I mean the specifics. Are you familiar with the Muggleborn Registration bill? Or the Sub-human Optimization Act? I championed them both."

"I don't follow politics much," Harry admitted.

"Oh, to be young." Yaxley shook his head. "I understand the sentiment. You feel like you can take on the whole world, why would you waste your time sitting in a debate hall? But if you do one thing today, listen to a word of advice from a man that's seen the world some. Laws are what make society go around. There is no counter-curse to well-written legislation."

"Barring putting a hole in the one who wrote it," Harry pointed out.

Yaxley smiled. "That's the thing, isn't it? But we aren't bumbling bureaucrats like the old ministry. Good blood runs in our veins. We fought a war already, and we are the ones who triumphed. All that's left is to make something of the world we won."

"The Potter vote is powerful," said Lucius. "Only the Sacred Twenty-Eight families maintain permanent seats on Wizengamot… and these days, there are only so many of those left in any decent condition."

"We're saying you could be powerful, Harry," Yaxley summarized. "You already are. You just haven't realized it yet."

Harry took a long drink.

"And what purpose would I be putting this power toward?"

The way Yaxley smiled gave him the feeling of someone apparating into an ambush.

"I'm so glad you asked. Harry, tell me something honestly now. What do you think is the greatest threat facing our society?"

"I have a feeling that you will tell me what you think it is," Harry said, swishing the last of his drink around the bottom of his glass.

"Astute," said Yaxley. "But that isn't what I asked. I want to know what you think— one member of the Inner Circle to another."

Harry looked into his swirling butterbeer like a pensive. He thought of vacation homes accommodating a wife, husband, and her husband's psyche-less slave. He thought of Severus Snape lying dead in his hall closet, killed by the one that he served. Harry looked beneath himself, at row upon row filled with pureblooded wizards gathered to hurl their wealth at bartered goods for the highest bidder— everything from luxury products, to other living beings.

"Stagnation," Harry said dully.

Yaxley blinked. "You sound like that fellow Avery. Just last week I read over his resignation letter from the Unspeakables, ranting about stagnation and inevitable loss. I couldn't make sense of it, when all you have to do is look around to see that we have everything we ever wanted… but you see, therein lies the problem."

"You'll have to explain that one a bit."

"But it's quite simple. I oversee the Ministry, you see. I may not be the minister, but you'll find that he has quite the hard time ignoring my suggestions, if you understand what I'm getting at. And all the reports point to the same thing: there is a distinct lack of menial labor."

"We killed off the peasants," Lucius summarized. "Now, we lack clerks and shopkeepers. We can't have scions of proper houses filling droll positions like that. So it's quite the problem."

"Where's a mudblood when you need them," Draco joked, going for a drink.

"That is exactly it," said Yaxley.

Draco froze, his glass an inch from his lips. "Pardon?"

"They're still out there," Yaxley said. "Those dirty muggle-spawns that possess some approximation of our gift. We killed off the older ones, certainly. The ones that had been brought up wrong. But what about the mutts that haven't matured? The ones who would have been receiving their Hogwarts letters this year, ready to trespass where they didn't belong?"

Harry provided the obvious answer. "They're alive in the muggle world."

"We will find them," Yaxley said fervently. "They will not be raised as wizards and witches, but as servants, bathed in an appropriate amount of ignorance. A new breed of House Elf, one that just happens to share our outward appearance."

"That will take years to make into a reality," Harry pointed out.

"All the more reason to start now," said Yaxley.

"What would I be doing exactly?"

"Just attend Wizengamot, Harry," said Lucius. "Cast your vote with us. Show your public support. With you at our side, our voting block will move from being powerful to becoming unstoppable."

"Meaning, at the moment, someone possesses power equal to you," Harry noticed. "Who is it?"

A commotion below interrupted their conversation. Competition for seats outside of their private box was harsh. The closer you were to the center, the better your view of the products when they came out, and the less likely you were to miss an item you were after. The prime seats in the center of the auditorium had been full before Draco and Harry even arrived.

Now, a five-by-five square of the best seating was being cleared out. Wizards, a few of whom Harry thought he recognized as the lord of one house or another, were being shoved aside with raw strength or bursts of magic. Over and over Harry watched them lurch, snatching their wands and turning on the attackers, only to freeze and scurry off when they noticed who'd done it.

Twenty five seats were opened up this way, and when the dust settled, only three people sat there, right in the middle of the opening. A man and woman with similar pug-like features and red hair glared at the nearest bystanders, as if daring them to come closer. In between them, a man with styled brown hair and handsome features lounged back in his seat, draping his legs over the back of the chair in front of him. He looked over, eyes picking out the exact spot Harry sat beside Yaxley and the Malfoys. He offered them a sardonic, short wave.

"Crouch," Yaxley scoffed.

"And the Carrows," added Lucius.

Barty Crouch Junior had already turned away, focusing on the stage where the auction would imminently begin. Yaxley and Lucius spent a while longer staring sternly at the back of his head.

Harry finally finished his drink, setting the empty glass on the floor and filing away the animosity between the other Inner Circle members.

Just when he thought the auction was finally going to begin, the door to their box opened instead. He'd noticed of course that there were five seats and only four of them. Here came the occupant for the final spot.

The newcomer lacked the aristocratic air of Yaxley or the Malfoys, although it was clear he'd spent a considerable amount of time and money attempting to emulate it. He wore top-of-the-line robes, elaborate necklaces in abundant quality, and each of his fingers was inundated by at least three rings. He also lacked the fierceness of the trio that cleared space below them. Instead, he gave off the peculiar impression that just by being near you he was begging for a scrap of your attention.

Copious layers of gel were doing their best to matt down his naturally frizzy orange hair… and failing. He wore a monocle that Harry was certain was just for show. As he passed he flicked a drachma to the goblin bartender, but in his peripherals after the others had looked away, Harry watched the goblin bite the precious metal and scowl. The small bartender tossed it aside, where it promptly vanished. Nothing but Leprechaun gold.

"Well then, gentleman," said the portly man as he settled into the last chair. "Lovely night for a bit of spending, wouldn't you say?"

"If it isn't Peter Pettigrew!" Yaxley greeted (as if it were a surprise to encounter him inside Pettigrew's Emporium). "Let me just say, I don't want to hear that from you. You're the only man in here that won't be spending a knut!"

It was good natured ribbing, but Pettigrew still sounded nervous as he laughed.

"That's only because I've spent so much the whole year long," Pettigrew said. "All investments, of course. And I would be a cretin to ignore my very generous donors."

"Donors you're compensating well for their effort," Yaxley said. "What was the agreement again? One item?"

Pettigrew did his best to smother his wince. "Yes— one item, any item, completely free of charge, for each member of the Inner Circle."

The man's rat-like eyes roved the three who qualified here, then dipped to the three others on the floor. Only Bellatrix — and, of course, Severus Snape — were not present. Harry was quite sure that was more than Pettigrew had been banking on, considering the way the man was chewing through his lower lip.

Yaxley leaned over to Harry. "I set up that particular deal when I had this place built from the ground up. Go on, use it to the fullest! And don't forget who you owe it to of course."

Harry glanced over from the corner of his eye and gave a mute nod.

The curtains opened. The Auction began.

A dark-skinned boy took the podium. Tall and good-looking, he had almost no hair on his head. He studied the room, drawing visible delight from how they obediently quieted for him. Even though there was no need for it, he still pressed his wand to his throat and amplified his voice. Just for the effect.

"Greetings," he said. "I am Blaise Zabini, heir of the Zabini family. I will be your auctioneer tonight. My word is law. To go against it, is to go against the auction itself. You do not want that. But I know what you do want."

There was a great clamor as the curtain fell.

What was revealed was an incredible display. Cages were stacked nearly to the ceiling. Harry spotted a centaur, a couple stray werewolves, and what he thought may have been a baby basilisk, considering someone saw the need to put a blindfold on a snake. There were also inanimate goods, like trunks and clothing with magical properties. An entire section was devoted to potions; another of equal size specifically to potent love potions. Harry firmly believed that every last one would sell by the night's end. 

"This is only the start," Pettigrew said proudly. "We're saving the real treats for later."

It certainly seemed he was telling the truth. A great many bids rang out for these items, but Harry noticed that most of them came from the fringes. While expensive, these items were still within the means of the poorer ones present. The only slight surprise was when Amycus and Alecto Carrow raised their wands and flashed up two black skulls: they were cashing in their free items to claim the werewolves.

"Fools," Lucius scoffed. "What a waste. Could they not even afford something so cheap?"

"Now now," said Yaxley. "There's no reason to be shocked. I believe we both know how they're financial situations look these days."

The two chuckled, both pressing the back of their hands to their lips as they did.

"What do they even want with those?" Draco asked, wrinkling his nose.

"To kill them of course," Lucius said. "Likely slowly. Those two enjoy it more that way."

"Isn't that admirable?" Pettigrew asked. "Getting rid of a half-breed like that?"

Lucius sniffed. "It's a waste of what should be valuable time. There are more efficient ways of accomplishing such things, for those of us with actual concerns."

Like Harry had suspected, Pettigrew was not bluffing about the variety of items on display. The entire stage was emptied in short order, and when the last item sold every single one disappeared, replaced by a completely new display.

"Sent back to storage," Pettigrew explained. "Easier that way on the ones who buy lots. They can pick them all up in one go later on."

It was a long event. Harry found himself impressed with Blaise's presenting. The boys voice never hitched, despite barking out bids and winners without pause for well over an hour. The items grew steadily higher in value.

To tell the truth, Harry had been paying very sparse attention when Lucius suddenly held out his wand, conjuring the same skull as the Carrows before him.

Looking down to the auctioneer's block, Harry found a broom on display. By his side, Draco was squirming in his seat. Lucius looked over with a smirk.

"As promised," he said. "Your late wedding gift, from me. Your own father cannot be outdone for an occasion like this."

"Thank you!" Draco said, years bleeding away in his voice until he sounded an awful lot like the eleven-year-old Harry once knew.

"A broom?" Harry asked.

Draco whipped toward him. "Not just a broom! That's a Yajirushi! They've just been made, fresh out of Japan. You can't even get them in this country. That's probably the only one this side of the channel! The speed is a bit lower than a Firebolt, but that hardly matters with this kind of acceleration and agility. With a broom like that, I could even play in the league!"

"But you won't," Lucius said.

Draco's enthusiasm ebbed.

"Of course, Father," he said. "Just a figure of speech. That's all."

Harry looked at Yaxley. "Are you also aiming for a broom?"

The man laughed. "Let's say that I have my eyes on something bigger than just that."

The rest of the auction progressed smoothly. Harry got a few curious looks off the others as he held off on claiming a free item. Yaxley clearly had a plan, but Harry must have seemed simply idle. Because he was. He didn't plan on being here, nor did he plan on taking anything home, knowing he would have to pick it up after. It wasn't worth extending this long night for some trinket or another.

Finally, the stage was cleared again, and this time it did not immediately refill. The lights dimmed. A hush hit the crowd. Most stopped bidding long ago as prices rose exorbitantly, but none left their seats. They all wanted to see it. They needed to know what the auction's last items could possibly be.

One at a time, the final goods were walked onto the stage. Walked, because they possessed legs of their own.

At first, they didn't look particularly exciting. Not compared to the treasures that came before them. But quickly every man in attendance began to truly notice what was in front of them. They were the kind of slaves a lonely wizard might do anything for. Even bankrupt himself.

Their clothes were torn in precise ways, showing enough skin to entice but too little to spoil anything. Women with beautiful faces and figures stood in chains, looking down at the stage.

All of them were naturally eye-catching, like gorgeous Indian twins and a black witch Harry vaguely recalled hearing of as a professor at Hogwarts, but it was undeniable that one stood out above the rest.

The auctioneers knew it too. She was positioned in the center, elevated on her own pedestal. Her robes were less torn than the other girls, yet she drew eyes all the more. It was only natural. Her very presence demanded attention, from her perfect face to her long platinum blond hair. The entire auditorium was between them, and yet Harry saw her eyes. They were bright blue and utterly alive.

Three black skulls erupted in the air.

Corban Yaxley looked in surprise toward Harry. Blaise, who had so far been utterly unflappable, seemed temporarily at a loss.

"You want the veela," said Yaxley.

"If that is what she is," said Harry. "Will this be a problem?"

Yaxley was silent. He looked at Harry, both their arms extended, the same dark tattoo peeking from under their sleeves. The audience was whispering. The older Death Eater turned his attention to the stage.

"I'll take the twins!" he said loudly.

A glow appeared around the identical Indian girls. Their eyes widened. They were led away a moment later, off of the stage.

"The one in the middle," Harry said, amplifying his voice with the same spell as Blaise. 

He stared down at the other man with a skull floating beyond his wand. Barty Crouch looked at him and winked.

"They can have them," he said. "I want all the muggleborns you have left."

"You will have to pay if you want more than one," Blaise said. "It will not be cheap."

"I'll manage," said Crouch. "But I expect the most expensive one to come free."

"We'll work something out," Blaise said.

The crowd's whispers quieted then, disappointed by the lack of drama, only to roar into loud chatter as Blaise officially ended the auction. Most in attendance had come away with something at least. Now it was time to pick up their spoils.

"I'll be getting what is mine," Harry declared, rising.

As he limped toward the back of the room, Wormtail stumbled after him.

O-O-O

The auction house was somehow more chaotic after the event than it had been in the buildup. Harry had to force his way through crowded lines in the back room, even with strangers' natural tendency toward clearing out of his path. It was simply too crowded for them to see him coming.

As he limped onward, a chubby figure scurried behind him. Every dozen paces or so, Wormtail would work up the nerve to speak.

"There's really no need to go all this way yourself, Harry," he said. "Our staff can handle this if you want to go home."

"Yet I've come this far already."

Bit by bit, the crowd was thinning. The storeroom had a vaulted ceiling and an absurd number of employees moving about, delivering auction items as smoothly as a well-inked quill. Those same employees gave them looks as they saw the direction he and Pettigrew were going, but looked away promptly when they recognized who they were.

"We deliver plenty of the large prizes," said Pettigrew. "It would be no trouble to do the same with yours."

"There's no need."

"We'll do a complimentary quality inspection!"

"Are you saying your other products have dubious quality?"

Pettigrew winced at the way Harry's question drew nearby eyes. They broke away from the crowd, mercifully, into a section with the words KEEP OUT floating in flashing red letters. Here, cages – mostly empty – lined both walls.

"It has had behavioral issues," Pettigrew said. "Bit one of my best workers, it did. Nearly took off a finger."

"I believe I can handle whatever she tries."

"Give me one night, and I'll have it trained properly—"

Harry spun. He leaned in, placing his face inches from Pettigrew's own. Pettigrew yelped and began to back up. Harry limped forward for each step he took.

"It seems to me," Harry said, "that you care an awful lot about having this woman here overnight. It makes me wonder, what would a wizard as pathetic as you be this desperate for? If Yaxley got her as he wanted, would you be pulling his ear and begging like this? Or do you think because I am young, because I walk with a limp and avoid needless posturing, that you can tell me what to do?"

Pettigrew's back hit a cage and he went stiff. Inside the cage, a large frothing-mouthed boarhound hit the bars, snapping at Pettigrew's backside and making the wizard lurch sideways and collapse on the floor.

"You still exist because competent people find you easy to handle," said Harry. "Take care not to forget that." He looked at the huddled wizard, then at the dog still barking, making the wretch protect his head with both flabby arms. "I'll be taking this dog as well."

"But that was sold to someone else!" Pettigrew wailed.

"Then look me in the eyes and tell me no."

A moment later the cage was open, the dog trotting out. It looked at Harry and cocked its head, sniffing the air, then padded to a random part of the room.

Pettigrew only stayed long enough to show Harry the way before disappearing. Ever the coward. Not that Harry minded. He stopped in front of the most lavish cage yet, his newly acquired hound standing some distance away.

This cage possessed a bed, curtains, and an armchair. The bars were made from silver, and the floor was carpeted with sole exception of one spot in the corner, where a table had gone. That table had since been moved. The sole occupant sat cross legged where it had been, on the only bit of cold cement in her whole cell.

The blue eyes Harry had noticed were so much closer now. He stared into them and felt a shudder pass. For a moment, it felt as if he was standing in a different place, in a different time, as a younger man— no, as nothing but a boy. But he quickly shook himself out of the past.

"So you are to be my owner," said the woman.

Disdain dripped from her voice along with a hint of a french accent. Harry opened her cage with a flick of his wand.

She rose slowly. Her movements were as deliberate as a duelist, though there was no chance she still possessed a wand. Harry could tell. If she were armed, she would have destroyed as many of the men in this place as possible, then turned it on herself if she still hadn't escaped. 

"My name is Harry Potter," he said.

She spat on him.

The glob of saliva passed directly through his head. Harry's body shimmered and vanished. A new Harry appeared two steps to the left with the same neutral expression.

"Good attempt," he said. "Feel free to try again."

She promptly spat on the new version. This one, too, vanished.

Invisible to her eyes, Harry stood scratching the ears of his newly acquired hound dog, who had sniffed him out straight away. As he watched a third copy get the same treatment, he sighed.

Perhaps this would take longer than he thought.