This is my first warning ever. This is a dark chapter, here. Rape is used as a tool although not graphic but enough.

Within the bowels of the Ministry of Magic.

The rumors of the Muggle government dissolving the 'Procreation Act, especially after the mud-blood flaunted her marriage to a mere muggle had many in an uproar.

Crumbling the paper Dreues seethed in rage. THE muggle bitch thought she outmaneuvered everyone, by having children then getting married before her arrest. She was sadly mistaken she was deemed a broodmare and that is what she will be.

After the destruction of the Slave dens of Turbo, many purebloods abandoned the flesh trade of British brides. Scoffing Dreues just changed his source of procuring his chattel, now he waited. His contact acquisition a person of talent that will be able to place a portkey on her person then the bitch would be directly dropped into one of his 'stables' so he can immediately start breaking her for consumption. He paid extra for the portkey to be laced with a weak confound potion. He wanted to see the look on her face as she realizes she will have no escape.

The quill holder on his desk within the Hall of Wizard Vital Records turns blue, his body tightens with anticipation. His blood thickens in his veins as his heart begins to race. She is finally caught. Quickly grabbing his cloak, he leaves for this smaller lesser known estate.

Near the witching hour

Sedately Dreues wipes himself clean as he watches other players defile the thing the common populous admires. The satisfaction of seeing her brown eyes widen as she laid both gagged and shackled in the barn stall, left him with the hardest hardon he had ever experienced. It indeed is a fine night for debauchery as the highest prized flesh was now in his hand. Quickly leaving to dispatch owls, his thoughts now center on this night is to be his last and finest auction.

The estate is only a few hectares but rich in history. The far stables that no longer house the horses have now been restored for other types of husbandry. The main stall had seen plenty of gold exchange hands of the elite for their chattel. Instead of just horse flesh peddles in animals who have the nerve to call themselves wizards and witches. Here they quickly find their true name, breeder, young or old he didn't care. Becoming a broker of flesh was so simple, obtain the target, make sure the merchandise is handled with a firm hand and care. Once off the platform, the next acquisition is tethered to the post.

His coffers filled as the elite was able to breed. The required number of magical sprogs were met, the breeder disposed and whitewashed for future generations. None was the wiser.

The Empire will flourish again.

Riddle taught all within his ranks theatrics was the key to control the narrative. Play the audience to their most based cravings and mood. Apply enough humiliation to whet the appetite and pull back.

All can be forgiven…at the right price.

But this night, all who would pay a 'tasting fee' was welcomed before the bidding was to begin.

Marietta Beckwick nee Edgecombe cackles as she finishes rocking on its face, making it swallow her most 'pure' secretions husband bellows his completion up its arse.

They laugh as the body below twitches, struggling for air and freedom. Drunk on both spirits and depravity they snicker in glee as they had their turn with THE mudblood and bane to all that was deemed pure and deserving of magic. Without shame they leave the stall, skyclad and high on her stolen magic they move to the bath, to clean the stench off their skin.

Shallow cuts running across the once golden skin split enough for blood to trail down the bench on to the floor. So deep in their wicked pleasure none acknowledge the widening pool, slowly deep maroon becomes black and shadows lengthen.

It is a new moon; multiple torches light the paths between the stalls as laughter and excited whispers cover moans of the tormented. The platform is decorated in celebration as drinks and food is being served. The shaved broken woman shallowly breaths, her lungs fills then deflates releasing an odorless gas, her skin grays as it shrivels. Foreign Blood runes momentarily rise on once russet skin. Within moments only ash is left, the door opens for the next patrons, the shadows move against the flickering flames.

All within the stable feel a warm breeze, their hair stands on end. All magical creatures no matter how civilized, have a sixth sense beyond the mundane.

The shift in the wind is not the only sensation, as the crowded area became eerily silent.

Dark deeds made with such abandon and malicious pleasure attracts like entities.

Only a buzz can be heard as dark clouds swarm the land.

A week later

Horrific findings at the Serpen Stables!

The Quibbler - Sibahni Changalli

It was a well-known fact Serpen Stables has a long history of breeding lines of champion horses and prestigious connections to the Royal court of Scotland but it has a darker history. Littered with accusations of heritage line theft, conspiring to murder and fraud this grand estate is now embroiled in another scandal.

To cast off the cloud of 'baseless accusations' an exclusive invite to the celebrate its Centennial Revel came to a horrific end as over fifty bodies were found within the back stable used for breeding pairs. As the investigation is still ongoing, there are some circulating theories, as it has been established Dreues Brafyne the father of the "Procreation Act' a descendent of the Serpen line is now linked to a series of kidnappings. Could this be an act of revenge for stolen brides, the location of sex trafficking or something more gruesome and disturbing than the last?

These crimes although based under the authorization of MoM has now uncovered as part of the national re-examination of the still-unsolved disappearance of wine heiress Shirlatha Brach-Bailey nee Agarwal the last daughter of the famous Indian textile merchant NagaKiran Agarwal.

We at the Quibbler will faithfully bring our readers the facts of these investigations.

Level Two of the Ministry of Magic houses the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Far beyond the lift, around the corner of the corridor lined with doors on both sides, a set of heavy oak doors leads into the Auror Headquarters. Head Auror Harry James Potter sits in the office furthest in the back is up late reading one of the many cases. Each thick with damning evidence involving the voting bloc of the 'Procreation Act'. Each member was either under investigation of grievous acts of fraud, racketeering, and kidnapping or their murder was being investigated.

Harry hears tapping on his door, looking he see the two faces, Percy and Kingsley. Motioning them in, he opens a draw pulling out crystal cut brandy tumblers and Firewhiskey. There was no need in posturing, he knew what was to come. As it has been for the past six weeks after the Crown's announcement of disillusioning the 'Procreation Act', mass vigilantism was at an all-time high.

Harry found himself sympathizing, as many of the bigoted minded who lead others to lose means of employment, business, and land were finally met some form of justice. By hand or court. It was with the 'mob' mentality it needed to be stop post with or chaos would permeant reign. It was slow going as sadly, too few cases were just petty payback.

The door closed with a level five silencing charm the debriefing begins.

First with the oldest and top cases and newest leads to the newest and least popular.

Each man with a tumble in hand thinks in the future. The murder count is rising, and missing brides and husbands' bodies are mysteriously found.

Harry sighs, "This isn't how it was supposed to be."

Kingsley sips, listening.

Percy bitterly snickers, "You can only keep your head down and ignore but so much before the truth slaps you in the face. Most of the old guard was killed or left in the first war, the second was run by over-eager men and women to prove themselves to the 'light' or 'dark'. We all came out just fucked in the end."

Kingsley watches the two men.

Gravely he interjects, "This will not get better gentlemen. There are too many outside forces both known and unknown that celebrate our fall. Far too many enemies that are taking advantage of this moment of weakness. We need a speedy resolution." Looking at Harry, "For the cases with solid evidence, fuck tradition and make the arrest no matter the level. We have to start cleaning our house. Or we won't have an Enclave."

Turning to Percy, "Get a message to your contacts, everyone who left England to other countries are no longer considered fugitives of the state."

Pensively Percy's eyes flash, "How do I guarantee they will not be prosecuted if they return?"

Kingsley's eyes twinkle with malicious mischief, "I'm the British Minister of Magic, the highest office of this fucking government. Its time people remember that. It helps me have my network and tactics that will make it happen. That Muggle Register will be the first of many that will be quietly killed and buried."

Knocking back the rest of his drink, Harry sighs, "You think Hermione will come back?"

Only then does Kingsley laugh with mirth, "If only to smack us, yes."

Author's note: Thanks for staying home and reading. To all be safe, and appreciate one another. Before this is over each one of us will know someone who contracted this horrible disease and one who has died.

Stay safe and wear a mask...we can all look like cool bandits.