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The Great Hall

It was on a normal Thursday afternoon that a battered and bruised Harry Potter stepped foot into the Great Hall, his movements downtrodden and sluggish. A most heroic and noble quest for nutrition did not seem to be enough to motivate his exhausted body to move any faster, as he all but dragged his way across the floor, muttering curses beneath his breath.

There was no denying the results of Nicolas's training, but he'd be damned if it didn't leave him broken beyond repair on most days. He had all but forgotten what it felt like to be fully rested.

Forcing himself through the great double doors, Harry took a second to celebrate the minor victory of making it all the way from the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor to here without succumbing to the sweet release of death. The celebration was short-lived, however, as the thunderous noise from the hall finally hit him like a tidal wave, almost knocking him flat to the ground.

A hodgepodge symphony of laughter, chatter, and clinking cutlery, it pierced through his already shaky defenses to give him an ear-splitting headache. His hands came up to rub at his temples as he took in the sight in front of him - a sea of colorful robes adorned with house colors engulfing the enormous room, each table filled with eager students engrossed in animated conversations.

His eyes darted around the hall, trying to take in all the sights and sounds. The overhead ceiling, charmed to mirror the real sky, reflected a breathtaking sunset, casting warm hues across the room. The floating candles bathed the scene in a soft, flickering light, giving the chamber an ethereal glow. The fluttering of owls' wings, the screeches of excited pixies, and the occasional purr of a nearby cat melded together to create a cacophony of such magnitude, it was a small wonder anyone could stand to be here.

So loud... he frowned to himself, as he began making his way through the swirling crowds, catching glimpses of familiar faces on the way. He saw Neville, his closest male friend, sitting at the Gryffindor table, his black hair adorned with a strange-looking golden headband he'd presumably been given by someone to wear. Next to him, the Hufflepuff girl Hannah Abbott, on whom he had once had a rather overpowering crush (Harry had become privy to this information during a late-night hangout session in the Room of Requirement, in which Neville had reluctantly admitted to the crush under the ravenous eyes of two gossip-hungry women).

Currently, the girl looked like she wanted to consume Neville whole – so powerful was the hungry gleam in her eyes as she laughed at something he said. Harry couldn't help but smile to himself at the sight of it.

Look at you go, Nev. Got the whole table drooling over you.

A slight exaggeration, perhaps, but the underlying point was valid – ever since Neville had started spending time with their little group, he'd slowly but surely grown into a much more confident man, who could handle himself in a fight. His stuttering had improved, and he carried himself with a certain dignity, heretofore unbeknownst to the shy young man. Such qualities were attractive, and so it only made sense that the people who had once disregarded him completely, now decided to cast a second glance in his direction.

Harry had a strong feeling that Hannah Abbott's obvious crush would go largely unrequited, however. These days, Neville only had eyes for one girl, after all.

Over at the Ravenclaw table, he spotted Luna, his strange yet diligent teacher, engaged in energetic conversation with a fellow Ravenclaw, who looked like he'd rather be just about anywhere else at the moment. Harry had to admit to some sympathy for the boy – not many could handle Luna in a conversation, especially not on days where she was feeling particularly chatty.

Hermione, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Hmm, I wonder where she is, Harry pondered as he got seated at the far end of the table, where the concentration of students was slightly less dense. She left the Room before me, if I remember correctly. Maybe Perenelle has her working extra hours?

"Good afternoon, 'Arry."

The French-accented voice tore through his musings, dragging his attention back to the present. He didn't even need to turn around to know who it belonged to.

"Morning, Fleur," he replied, as she slid onto the bench next to him. A flash of silver-blonde hair sparkled in the corner of his vision.

"'Ave you 'eard the news yet?" she asked him, keeping her voice low, as if speaking of some well-kept secret.

"Uhh… no, I can't say that I have," Harry blinked. "What news?"

"'Ere. Take a look at this," she finished, handing him a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. He reluctantly accepted, and flipped it open on the first page.

AZKABAN JAILBREAK – MASSIVE SECURITY BREACH

The Ministry of Magic held an emergency press conference yesterday evening, on Wednesday the 20th of February, to announce a mass breakout from Azkaban.

Initial reports came from Azkaban personnel, who sounded the alarm mere moments after a vicious explosion rocked the prison, and a colossal plume of smoke could be seen emanating from the west side of the building.

Speaking to reporters in his private office, Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners have escaped from the prison, and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.

"We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were in merely a year ago, when the wanted mass-murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night. "We do not think these breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person in history to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all that we can to round up the criminals, and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached, as they pose a very serious threat to any regular, upstanding citizen."

"There was another escape…?" Harry whispered, narrowing his eyes.

"Oui. And this one was considerably worse than the previous," Fleur sighed. "It would appear… the Dark Lord 'as made 'is first move."

Well… fuck, Harry thought to himself. That was just about the last thing I needed to hear right now.

"Azkaban doesn't appear to be very secure anymore, does it?" he said, handing the paper back to Fleur. "Have you spoken with your mother?"

"Oui. I woke up to a letter from 'er this morning."

"Hmm… Figures," Harry sighed. "I'll be getting an owl from Sirius soon, I reckon. Now that Voldemort has begun playing the game for real."

"Do you think he will attack 'Ogwarts?" she asked, cocking her head ever so slightly to the right.

"I… don't think so," Harry mused. "There wouldn't be much of a point to it. Not yet, at least. Plus, we've still got ol' Dumbles here, and Voldemort's never been a huge fan of him."

"Understandable enough, I suppose," Fleur nodded. "I would not like to go 'ead-to-'ead with a wizard of Dumbledore's renown, either."

"Precisely. So for now, I reckon the best course of action is to just… keep focusing on the Tournament," he concluded, feeling a familiar weight settle in his chest. This fucking deathtrap of a sporting event just kept coming back to haunt him…

"Hey, are you seeing this?"

"Isn't that Fleur Delacour… sitting with Harry Potter?"

"Why are they talking so casually…?"

"Do you think that… maybe that Daily Prophet article by Rita Skeeter was actually…?"

Whispers of the Hogwarts rumor mill at work made their way to Harry's ears in the lull following his and Fleur's conversation. They were spreading like wildfire in the packed hall – jumping from one table to the next. A quick look at Fleur revealed an annoyed frown etched deep into her features.

"Merde… Do they never shut up?" she growled.

"Nope, they don't," Harry sighed. "Take it from the guy who has been the number one source of gossip for most of his time at this school – the only thing Hogwarts students love more than Quidditch and midnight rendezvous in broom cupboards, is juicy info on the lives of their fellow classmates."

"Ahh… I suppose Beauxbatons is 'ardly much different," Fleur breathed. "But still… to think that a single conversation between us could spark so much drama…"

"It is what it is," Harry shrugged, before rising from the bench and getting to his feet. "Want to get out of here? I don't think they're likely to stop any time soon."

"Uh… sure," Fleur blinked, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. "But what about dinner? We 'aven't even 'ad the chance to eat yet."

"No worries. We'll go find Hermione, and then pop down to Hogsmeade. You know how to Apparate, right?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Of course. Who do you think I am?"

Room of Requirement

Stepping into their shared bedroom in the Room of Requirement, Harry nurtured a worried expression as his footsteps creaked against the wooden floorboards. He hadn't been able to find Hermione anywhere amongst her usual haunts in the castle, and so his search had taken him back here, to their most precious of havens. Fleur had elected to wait for them by the lake – for even as the three of them had grown closer, Harry remained hesitant to reveal the secret of the Room to her. That fact alone spoke volumes of how much he prized the privacy and security it offered.

Currently, the bedroom was bathed in a gentle glow from the sunlight streaming in through the window, casting elongated shadows across the walls. A smattering of clothes lay spread out across the floor, mixed with a handful of books and parchment rolls. As he approached their shared bed, however, he noticed something… unusual.

A figure, sitting hunched over on the opposite side of the frame, its shoulders trembling.

Wait… Is that…?

A muted sob made its way to his ears.

Oh no…

He moved closer, his heart racing in his chest.

"Hermione...?" he tried. "Are you alright?"

Startled, Hermione looked up, her tear-streaked face a mixture of surprise and vulnerability. She attempted to wipe away the evidence of her tears, but her eyes still shimmered with unshed sorrow.

"Harry," she managed to choke out, her voice wavering. "I... I wasn't expecting you to..."

"I heard you," he said, taking another step towards her. "It... sounded like you were crying…"

She tried for a sigh, but it emerged as a strangled sort of sound. Her shoulders slumping down in defeat, she motioned for him to sit beside her on the bed. Harry willingly obliged, his mind yearning to comfort her in any way it could.

Lowering himself onto the soft mattress, he wrapped an arm across her shoulders, and pulled her close. Her trembling body responded in kind, and seemed to melt into his.

"I… I was looking at this…" she started, her voice frail and uncertain.

Raising the object in her hands, Harry felt his breath hitch in his throat as he laid eyes on it.

It was a picture of her parents. A captured moment, frozen in time. They stood underneath a golden sunset, happy smiles on their faces, their arms wrapped around each other in a loving embrace.

Hermione's eyes welled up with fresh tears as she traced her fingers over her parents' faces.

"I... I miss them," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I thought the worst was over, but then I found this amongst my things, and... Oh god, Harry, it hurts... It hurts so much…"

Harry's heart sank further into the depths of his chest as he watched her grieve. He knew well how much Hermione had loved her parents, and understood the longing she felt for their presence. After all, his parents were dead, too.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he started, running a hand through her messy curls as her tears began to fall. "I should have realized you were still grieving…"

It had been stupid of him to assume that, just because she hadn't been crying as much lately, that meant she was over the death of her parents. Such a monumental loss could not be processed in a matter of weeks. Hell, it would probably take years before the pain had subsided completely.

"I… I-I don't… Oh, Harry…" Hermione sobbed, pushing her face into his chest.

"It's okay…" he breathed, closing his eyes. "You can cry. For as long and as hard as you need to. I'll be here."

And so, they sat there, two broken people finding solace in each other's arms - Hermione spilling her sorrow into his robes, Harry stroking loving patterns across her back.

They both certainly had places to be, people to meet and classes to attend, but… it mattered little in the presence of such paralyzing grief.

It wasn't until some later that her cries finally began to die down. And even then, she refused to let go of him, clinging to his body like a drowning sailor would a piece of driftwood. At last, she turned her head upwards, and with puffy eyes and a tear-streaked face, mouthed the words "thank you".

"You don't have to thank me," Harry smiled. "I'll always be here for you, no matter what. And it won't be because I feel like I have to, either – it'll be because I love you."

Nodding softly, she rested her head against him once more. A few more tears followed, before she fell silent.

"I promised Fleur I'd meet her by the lake," Harry said, a slight frown marring his features. "I should probably go tell her I won't be coming after all, but I won't do it if you don't want me to."

"N-No…" Hermione shook her head. "Don't go."

"… Alright then," Harry nodded. "I'll stay right here."

Fleur will forgive me once I explain the situation to her, he thought. For now, all that matters is supporting my partner... And so that's what I'll do.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered.

"Always," Harry reminded her, placing a loving kiss to the top of her head. "No matter what."

London

In a quaint, dimly-lit cafe placed on the side of a bustling street, a man sat alone at a corner table, carefully disguised under an elaborate enchantment to conceal his identity. A nondescript mop of brown hair, subdued features and lethargic eyes rendered him an uninteresting person to most – which was just the way he wanted it. Being on the run from two separate parties would force anyone to reconsider a normal approach to public appearances. Especially when such appearances could lead to his incarceration.

In his youth, Sirius had been a reckless, impulsive man – but such emotional indulgences had long since been beaten out of him. A harsh life, a prolonged stay in Azkaban and the deaths of his friends had taught him the art of subtlety and patience, and that one could never be too careful. An opportune moment was just that, after all – a moment, and those could be hard to spot when you were living life at a hundred miles an hour.

His heart raced as he gazed out the window, anxiously anticipating the arrival of a familiar face. It had been Remus's idea to meet here, at a muggle café. There were limits to what a wizard could do with so many non-magical witnesses around, after all – no matter what organization said wizard happened to be affiliated with. Even the Ministry had to tread carefully around muggles, or else the Prime Minister would be breathing down their necks before long.

As the clock struck noon, the door chimed, and Sirius's heart skipped a beat. There, standing in the entrance, was Remus – or what seemed like him, anyways. The past few months had changed him; his once vibrant eyes were now sunken and filled with a haunted expression. His gaze darted nervously across the interior, scanning for any sign of potential threats.

Sirius remained seated, pretending not to notice his friend. Instead, he turned his attention to a newspaper lying on the table, hoping to blend into the background. Remus hesitated for a moment, before choosing a table near the window, giving them both a clear view of each other.

The tension in the air was palpable as the minutes dragged on like hours. Sirius knew he had to tread carefully – one wrong move, and their cover could be blown. But eventually, Remus glanced around one more time, before reaching into his cloak and pulling out an old, crumpled letter.

Sirius instantly knew what to do. Holding his newspaper in a way that gave him an unobstructed view of the letter, he fished out his wand with his free hand, and pointed it at the yellowed paper.

It immediately vanished from view, before rematerializing a couple of seconds later on the table in front of him. A clever little trick he had devised during the last war, executed by the use of a Disillusionment charm followed by a Summoning charm.

Grabbing the letter, he folded it open inside of his newspaper, and began to read. With every word his eyes devoured, his heart sank and soared in equal measure.

The news were both good and bad. Voldemort had indeed succeeded in freeing a large chunk of his supporters from Azkaban… yet he remained ignorant of the mole in his midst. And it was absolutely crucial to both Sirius and Remus that the mole remain undiscovered, for if lost… well, he did not want to think about the ramifications that would have for their little intelligence war.

His grip on the newspaper tightened as he read the last segment of the letter. A surprise attack on an Order safehouse had left Arthur Weasley severely injured. The man had managed to escape with his life intact, but apparently lost an arm in the struggle. His children had yet to be notified.

Isn't Harry friends with his son, Ron Weasley? Or am I misremembering things? Sirius thought to himself. Ah, no matter, I suppose. We're all in danger now that the Dark Lord has returned. Harry most of all.

A fierce desire to check on his godson blossomed to life in his chest. He forced it back down again.

No time for sentimentality. I must focus on the mission.

Tapping his wand beneath the table, he set fire to the letter, reducing it to ash in an instant. No point in leaving any evidence for the Death Eaters or the Aurors to find – Godric knew he had enough trouble keeping them off his trail as it was.

Looking up again, he locked eyes with Remus across the room. Recognition flashed in his gaze, but he said nothing. Sirius nodded subtly in return, a silent acknowledgement.

They couldn't speak to each other here – not if they wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible. But Sirius knew his friend would be waiting for him later, once he and Apolline had finished setting up their London safehouse. The building was to be hidden underneath a heavy layer of protective wards, plus a strong Fidelius charm, which was easier said than done. Before such a time as it was ready, it could not be used for anything, nor could the three of them be seen in its general vicinity together.

Remus rose to leave, and Sirius could do nothing but watch as he walked past the counter, and out the door, without so much as a single glance in his direction. He'd known that the two of them could not be seen talking together under any circumstance, but still... he missed his friend. He wanted to talk to him, ask him about things over in the Werewolf camp. Share a drink over memories of happier times, and talk of their shared responsibility known as Harry. But alas… it was not to be.

His friend promptly disappeared into the London streets, blending in with the crowd to great effect. Within seconds, Sirius had lost sight of him entirely.

Letting out a sigh, he pretended to read his newspaper for another five minutes or so, before letting it fall to the table. Just as he was about to get up from his seat, however-…

The windows to the café exploded inwards, eliciting screams and cries from the muggles who were here to have a drink and a conversation. Sirius wrapped his arms over his head as a shower of glass shards descended upon the interior, carving lines into wooden surfaces and embedding themselves in unprotected skin.

Opening his eyes to the carnage, Sirius saw people huddled over in pain, streams of blood leaking from cuts and gashes. One man laid still on a nearby table, a long shard jutting out from his eyeball, and another one from his neck. Next to him, a woman was screaming at the top of her lungs as a younger teen attempted to remove a piece of wood from her stomach.

"Fuck," Sirius growled. "Not good."

Out on the street, he caught a glimpse of three men in dark robes, standing in a semi-circle with skeletal masks obscuring their faces.

Death Eaters.

He only had a second to react as one of the men noticed him at the back of the café, and pointed a crooked wand in his direction. He ducked below the table as a crimson curse came soaring through the air. It collided with the wall further back, bursting in a shower of red energy as it burned a black mark into the surface.

"What… is… happening?!" a blonde-haired girl further up the row of tables screamed. Sirius looked to her just a moment too late, as an angry yellow curse slammed into the side of her head, cracking it open like an egg, spraying her brain matter across the floor.

"Hey, don't you remember what the boss said?" one of the Death Eaters outside growled. "You're not supposed to kill civilians!"

"M-My bad. I thought she was the target!"

"Then look twice before you start throwing out curses like that!"

I'll kill them both, Sirius thought to himself, red-hot anger blazing to life in his chest. I'll kill them both, and everyone else who takes orders from Voldemort.

He rose from his hiding spot with reckless abandon, and fired a violent curse at the closest Death Eater. The man barely had a chance to register the impact before the curse activated. A wet gargling sound emerged from his throat as his entrails came flooding out of his mouth, a slimy mess of blood, flesh, and organs. The amalgam of guts and viscera splattered against the concrete pavement with a sickening squelch, coloring the stone a deep red.

To his credit, the other Death Eater was quick on the uptake, and rather than waste time watching his teammate die, he went for Sirius. A deluge of nasty-looking spells burst from his now extended wand-tip, accompanied by a stream of profanities.

Sirius conjured a Protego shield in front of him and watched as the orbs of energy collided with its translucent surface, exploding in a myriad hues of light and particles. Each impact rocked him to his core, yet he remained firm, weathering the storm with relentless ferocity.

"It'll take more than that to kill me, Death Eater!" Sirius snarled, whipping away the shield as the last of the spells fizzled out. He chained the wand movement into a new curse, and fired off a powerful Confringo that would have scorched the flesh clean off the Death Eater's bones… had it made impact.

The black-robed man jumped to the side just in time to avoid the charged flame, and responded in kind with a Blood-Boiling curse. Sirius deflected the spell, and threw back a Bone-Breaker, which was redirected into a nearby signpost.

"Why won't you just fucking die already?" Sirius screamed, the madness of Azkaban coming back in full force to roar triumphantly at the enemy it had been presented with. "Avada Kedavra!"

It happened in an instant. The green beam of light shot forth from Sirius's wand, and made contact with the Death Eater's torso. The poor man had attempted a flimsy Protego to save his life, but it had been a pointless endeavor – the Killing Curse could not be defended against, only dodged or avoided. At once, the man went rigid, his eyes frozen open in a permanent portrayal of shock and fear. And then… he fell to the ground, like a puppet that had lost its strings.

Sirius felt something lurch in his chest as the spell concluded. A piece of himself coming undone, ripped from its original position to float freely within the void of his soul. It did not hurt – at least, not physically. The torment was purely emotional.

An intense sensation of loss washed over him, sending him to his knees – the battle around him all but forgotten. To his right, another bystander fell to a cutting curse, his throat slashed open by the invisible spell. Warm blood tickled against Sirius's face as the body fell.

What… have I done?

Throughout his life, Sirius had killed people in a plethora of ways… but never before had he resorted to the Killing Curse. That had been his one and only rule – to never allow himself to stoop to the Death Eaters' level. But now… that most sacrosanct of edicts had been broken.

I'm… a monster…

As if on que, the piece of his soul that had come undone started to… disintegrate… within him. Crumbling in on itself, the fragment turned to ash and dust before his mind's eye, never to be reassembled or replaced.

A single tear leaked from his eye.

There can be no forgiveness.

"I've got you now, Black…" the last of the three Death Eaters said, having noticed him where he sat on his knees. "You ready to die?"

"I… I…" Sirius choked, not managing a coherent sentence.

"No, he's not," a different male voice said, before the Death Eater suddenly went stiff as a board, and came crashing down into a nearby table. Behind him stood a brown-haired man with lilac-colored eyes, regarding Sirius with a passionate smile.

"Sirius Black, correct?"

Sirius gave no response, shellshocked as he was.

That only seemed to deepen the man's smile.

"Maximillian Tarwen, at your service. I believe you have something I want."

A/N: And we're back! Not going to lie - I was expecting to have this chapter out way earlier. But then summer vacation happened, and so it's basically just been non-stop travelling and social plans ever since the middle of June, so... Yeah, my already crippled writing schedule didn't stand a chance.

BUT! I set up a Discord server for us! And before you start booing - yes, I know it's cliché. Fanfiction writer with a Discord server. Big whoop. But I promise you, this one isn't just for fanfiction. Nor is it really about me. I mean, I'm in there, but it's not about me. Or this story, to be honest. It's kind of... ahh, you know what, just read the blurb in the A/N at the beginning of this chapter. You'll find a link to the server there as well, if you're interested in joining.

Anywhos, I hope you are all enjoying your vacations. Mine has been absolutely amazing so far, if I do have to say so myself. Makes me dread going back to the nine-to-five in just a couple of weeks. But that's life, I suppose - an endless hamster wheel. Well, not entirely endless. You'll die eventually :)

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, as well. Things are beginning to move at a slightly quicker pace now, and soon, the Second Task will be upon us. And no, it won't be the same as in Canon, so don't you worry - I'm not that boring.

As always, if you enjoyed the read, please leave a review, and I'll see you guys in the next chapter.

- Twisted