Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Arcturus Black who lived far too many years longer than he wanted, awoke with a sharp jolt, the kind of headache that felt like a thousand nails hammering into his skull. He sat up in bed, groaning as he pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to push back the sudden wave of nausea. The pain was familiar, but it wasn't the only thing that bothered him. A strange sensation hummed through his veins, a pulse of magic that hadn't been there before, like an old instinct, and Arcturus finally recognized it. It had been following him for weeks on end now.
That hum. It was the same feeling he'd had every time one of the devils' own spawn, his family, added another name to the Black lineage. A new birth, a new addition to the vaunted family tree. It was always the same, a ripple of magic under his skin, a shift in the very fabric of their bloodline that only he, as Lord Black could feel. The idea that something had shifted again made him queasy despite his usually stoic nature.
Didn't the bastards have enough children already?! Merlin above and Morgana below, if he had to endure another little shite like the one Narccissa had popped out-
He had to check. The compulsion was too strong, impossible to ignore and his headache worsened with each second he did ignore it. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, but he shoved the discomfort aside and moved swiftly towards the tapestry in the drawing room.
The door creaked open, and the family tree lay sprawled across the wall, its branches splintering in all directions. Arcturus's aged eyes moved quickly over the names, his dead child, his siblings, his ancestors, all the Black names that were sewn into the fabric of his family's legacy whether they were blasted off or not.
He paused, his eyes narrowing as he saw the name that shouldn't have been there so prominently. Sirius Black. His grandson, a boy who had withered away on the family tree years ago, his name fading as he died.
Impossible. Sirius was dead, he'd seen it himself when he had the boy's arm buried on their grounds, one of the few times he'd done right in his long, bitter life. The boy had never been anything more than a disappointment, a rebel who chose to burn his bridges with the family, but he went out in a Black worthy fashion that deserved recognition.
Arcturus stared at the name, Sirius Black was back.
He could feel the hum, the strange pulse of magic growing stronger, as if the boy's very return was causing the bloodline to tremble and the man didn't go around doubting something he had believed in for all his life.
No. It still didn't make sense. Arcturus reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as he traced the name, trying to make sense of it. His chest tightened as a second name under Sirius, branching off akin to Orion's own to his, caught his eye.
A son. The boy had a son. Arcturus had a great grandchild! His bloodline would live on!
But the man nearly vomited all the same.
Harry.
Harry.
HARRY!
The name was like a punch in the gut. He blinked, his mind scrambling.
Harry?
It couldn't be. He taught the boy better. How could he ever disgrace Arcturus like this?! He'd be the laughing stock of the century, he'd be kicked from every high society club on sheer virtue!
It was the most common name he could think of, too common. It was the name of every second child in the wizarding world. What sort of name was Harry for a Black? Where was the gravitas, the noble lineage? Harry?
He could feel his chest tightening, the air suddenly feeling too thick, too hot. His heart pounded in his ears as he stared at the name on the tree. He could only accept the reality that this was how his lineage would continue.
Through Harry.
He staggered back, his breath coming in short, quick bursts. This was too much. He was far too old for this poppycock.
He ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts a storm of confusion. His mind couldn't keep up. Sirius had returned, improbable but not impossible. He'd heard of stranger things happening.
And then this Harry who the hell was he? How could the boy evade their eyes and have a child at the same time?
Was he a bastard? It didn't matter truly but Arcturus would have to find a suitable bride for his heir, Sirius. He had been wondering who he could pass his title down to but this was perfect.
He needed help. The man's mind was running a mile a minute as he paced with the thought. He wasn't in his right mind to deal with this properly and if the boy was anything like he left him, that unruly prodigy wouldn't come quietly.
Cassiopeia.
Yes!
Cassiopeia would understand. She had to. If anyone could explain this madness, it was her, that maniac. She was the only one in the family who had the depth of knowledge to make sense of the impossible. He had to get her here, he couldn't handle this alone.
His mind made up the man yelled one word.
"Kreacher!"
A light brown wand flicked through the air, and the family tapestry before them shimmered to life and the branches soon lit up in a scarlet hue. Cassiopeia Black, the witch with sharp, dark eyes and elegant features, didn't look a day over forty as she raised an intrigued eyebrow, a surprised smile tugging at her lips.
"Well, this is… unexpected, very unexpected." she murmured, eyeing the glowing branches with interest. "I do not sense nor detect any tampering at all. For all intents and purposes, your grandchild is truly amongst the living once more. I must apologize for suggesting you'd gone senile in your age. It simply seemed to make more sense at the time."
Arcturus grunted, rubbing his temples as the headache pulsed in the back of his skull. He wasn't in the mood for Cassiopeia's mocking tone, but he didn't have time for it either. The sight of Sirius Black's name on the tapestry, his dead grandson somehow revived, still burned in his mind.
"So?" Arcturus snapped.
Cassiopeia sighed dramatically, glancing at him as if he were an annoying child. "So? You wanted me to solve the mystery, don't you? Take a look." She waved her wand again with a look of concentration, and soon a blood-red, hazy line appeared over Sirius Black's name. After a moment, the line solidified, twisted, and a single word appeared.
St. Mungo's.
Arcturus's jaw tightened, and for a moment, his expression shifted from confusion to a strange satisfaction, though it was mixed with annoyance. His fingers tightened into a fist at his side as he muttered. "Your prowess in these arts never did please me, especially how they came about but thank you, Cassiopeia."
Cassiopeia rolled her eyes, flicking her wand dismissively to dispel the word as she moved away. "Yes, because I certainly live to please Lord Black." she said with an exaggerated sigh. "But St. Mungo's, really? You couldn't have figured that out yourself?"
Arcturus didn't respond immediately. He was too busy digesting the meaning of what had just happened. Sirius had somehow found his way into St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. That was… significant. Was he injured? His body hadn't been found though they had found a limb of his but the blood left behind suggested he was very dead. However it had been so many years now would he still be injured so? Was it something else? There were so many possible implications that it was mind-boggling.
But that wasn't the most infuriating part. The most infuriating part was that his own family tree had been the one to betray him. His grandchild was alive, and he had no bloody idea how or why. It was as if some unseen hand had toyed with his bloodline, and it made him feel small, helpless. He was Lord Black. He was not, never supposed to be the last in the know.
"St. Mungo's." Arcturus repeated, his voice a low growl.
Cassiopeia gave him a sharp look. "So what will you do now? Wait, don't answer that, I can guess from that look alone. That boy's stubbornness was inherited after all." she said, her voice colder now. "I hope you don't think you can throw your weight around this time. You will put us in a very bad spot if you decide to throw a tantrum now."
And the woman was right he thought reluctantly. St Mungo's like Hogwarts were one of the only places political and magical influences didn't reach. If Hogwarts was held down by Dumbeldore like Fort Nox, St Mungo's was a neutral ground where everyone agreed not to start conflict lest they find themselves dogpiled by the entirety of Magical Brittain.
At least that was the case until that madman broke it in his bid for power but that was neither here or there.
"What about the boy? Why is his location not showing?" Arcturus asked trying to stall for a answers as the woman glanced at him silently.
"Because unlike his…father he did not go through the ritual to tie him to the tapestry. All you will ever get is his name and a faint sign if he is alive or not. In fact I'm surprised you're even getting that. He must be quite something…"
Arcturus nodded slowly. While he understood the tapestry well, Cassiopeia had clearly altered it to do more than it should be able to. Not only that as Lord Black he never had to care much for bastards other than making sure they didn't stain his family's name.
This time it was different obviously.
"I will have to make an appointment then. If Siruis is admitted, as the Lord of his House they can not deny me-"
Cassiopeia raised a hand exasperated.
"If he has been presumed dead this entire time and you still haven't been notified that he is alive when he went to St Mungo's, the hospital known for its honesty, why are you assuming that he is there as a Black and no one else?"
Arcturus froze. Dammit! This aging body was getting to him!
"You're right. Whoever brought him there clearly doesn't want anyone to know. If we go proclaiming that my grandchild has risen from the dead, I'll just become the laughing stock of Britain. Not only that I could be tipping them off before hand and giving them the chance to escape." The man rumbled as he paced.
"This needs to be covert. In and out without any chance of escape. First we need to confirm the situation and that he is actually there before we do anything. That should be the easy part, we can easily insert someone who knows him inside. Once they send confirmation we can finally makes plans of extraction. We can hire our own healers on standby and-"
The man paused looking at Cassiopeia who was walking away.
"Where are you going? I'm detailing the-"
"I haven't been on the British Isle in years. I want to see how my niece's daughters are doing and their own children. You can't possibly be thinking of stopping me can you?"
Arcturus pursed his lips at the sickeningly sweet tone she spoke in as he nodded without hesitation.
"I am. I have a better idea than you just visiting them randomly. Help me write out letters to them and their spouses. I think its time we had a get together to solve this dilemma."
Cassiopeia paused and turned around slowly with a small but true smile as she pushed her hair to the side.
"That's the first thing you've said all day that isn't annoying. You don't need to worry about those letters, I'll take care of that. You just go make your plans as I know you want to."
Arcturus watched as the woman nearly skipped away feeling exasperated. If there was one good thing he could say about the woman it was that she loved her family. Otherwise why would she come to him despite the absurdity of his request?
Ted Tonks stepped through the front door with a tired sigh, rubbing his temples as he kicked off his boots. The wards had been especially busy today, with an influx of injuries from skirmishes between wizards. There was never any shortage of work these days.
He unbuttoned his robe, tossing it over the back of a chair. His hands moved mechanically as he pulled off his shirt and rolled up the sleeves of his undershirt, still sticky with the scent of potions and the faintest trace of blood that he vanished.
"Andromeda?" he called out, his voice a bit hoarse. "I'm home."
There was no reply at first and he set down his things in the hallway, feeling strange at the lack of answer. Was his wife not in?
His footsteps carried him down the hallway toward their bedroom, where he found Andromeda sitting on the edge of their bed as beautiful as the day he met her. She was holding a letter, her fingers curled around it almost absently and her gaze distant.
"Love?" Ted said again, this time softer, stepping into the room. "Everything alright?"
Andromeda didn't look up immediately. Instead, she traced the edge of the letter with her finger, and Ted's heart skipped a beat. He knew that look, he'd seen it before. The subtle unease, the way she held things in when she was worrying about their daughter.
Ted stepped closer, misreading the situation, his concern shifting immediately. "It's from Nymphadora, isn't it?" he asked. "Is it about him?"
He didn't know much about Nymphadora's relationship with the man other than what she told them, of course, but Ted had his doubts. The world wasn't kind to people like him, and the idea of his daughter falling in love with a werewolf, eventually starting a family… It troubled him more than he liked to admit to his wife.
Andromeda didn't answer right away. Instead, she glanced up at him with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though there was no warmth behind it. "It's not from Nymphadora, Ted," she said, her voice calm.
Ted blinked, a little taken aback. "It's not?" He stepped closer, squinting at the letter. "Well, who is it from, then?"
Andromeda's gaze softened as she finally set the letter down beside her on the bed.
"It's from my family."
Ted's heart sank, the blood draining from his face. "Your family?" He felt a surge of irritation and a bit of fear, though he tried to hide it
Andromeda glanced at her husband and nodded once.
Ted rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. He wasn't sure what to make of this. The Black family wasn't as far removed from their world as he would like, Nymphadora had bonded quite a bit with her cousins who Ted could not exactly say he approved of considering their parents. Not only that due to her talents, she had gotten quite a bit of attention from Lord Black himself.
It made Ted sour.
He didn't want Andromeda dragged back into their poisonous little mind games. Not after everything she'd been through just to be with him, not after how hard they'd fought to build a life outside of that cursed legacy.
He took a breath, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. "Well, if it's a letter from your family, then... I suppose we'll deal with it. But I don't like it. They're really not worth the stress."
Andromeda's smile flickered, and she raised a sophisticated eyebrow. "Are you that anxious to hear from Nymphadora? She's a grown girl you know?" she asked, her voice full of quiet amusement.
Ted sighed.
"She has been radio silent for quite some time but don't think I don't know what you're doing. What will you do, will you answer?"
The woman was silent for just a second before she spoke and not even Ted could figure out what she was feeling.
"It seems urgent so I will. Also it's from my favorite aunt, so I could ever ignore it? We haven't met in years…."
Lucius Malfoy stepped through the grand hallway of Malfoy Manor, his Manor, looking for his wife. He had just disposed(relocated) the last collection of Dark artifacts, securing the family's interests while keeping their name far from suspicion with Potter's recent foolish actions in the wizengamot. He did not know how the man's reckless play would turn but if he had his way, it would turn on his head.
He hadn't expected to find her here.
It was a familiar piece, one that Narcissa had played for years, and as he approached the drawing room, he could hear the delicate movements of her fingers against the keys.
Lucius hesitated by the doorway, watching her for a moment. She was beautiful, as always, her silvery-blonde hair pulled back in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Her fingers moved with precision, not hurried, but deliberate, and her eyes were half-closed, as though lost in the music. She hadn't acknowledged him yet, though he knew she could sense his presence. She always did.
He stepped into the room, his voice breaking the silence as he exhaled a deep sigh. "Narcissa…"
Her only response was a slight tilt of her head, her fingers never ceasing their quiet melody.
He frowned, the absence of a verbal reply was not unusual. Narcissa often retreated into the music, seeking solace from turmoil and with the recent change in power inside the Wizengamot it was expected.
Lucius was rarely one to interrupt her, especially after a day like today. He would not get her to break. He had tried.
As he approached, his eyes flicked to the surface of the grand piano imported from the finest german craftsmen. The seal was unmistakable and made him tremble, a bold, swirling crest in black wax, the emblem of the Black family.
A summons.
Lucius's eyes twitched and he let out a low scoff. "Of course. No respect for anyone whatsoever. Riding on the coattails of their dying fame-"
Narcissa's fingers stilled for a fraction of a moment, though she never once looked up. She didn't need to.
Grumbling under his breath, Lucius glared down at the innocent piece of paper, trying to set it aflame with his gaze alone. "You see this? They truly think we'll just drop everything for them, do they not? They summon us, as if they were still the ones with any authority over us. You are no longer a Black but a Malfoy."
He scoffed again, shaking his head. "And yet, they do it all the same. Disrespectful lot. You'd think, with all their wealth and status, they'd have the sense to recognize where true power lies."
At this, Narcissa's delicate hand, still hovering above the keys, gestured to the letter, her long fingers curling toward it. A subtle motion, a mere suggestion, but it was enough to stop Lucius in his tracks.
He stared at the letter again, then at her, before he gave a reluctant sigh and slowly took it up seeing the broken seal. Lucius's brow furrowed as he scanned the words, his expression darkening with each passing line.
When he reached the final sentence, the signature, his face went pale, drained of all color. "Cassiopeia…" he murmured, his voice suddenly tight with something that wasn't anger. Fear. Just a bit. He hadn't spoken to her in years, and for good reason. Her influence was far-reaching if waning, her motivations unknown, and her whims… dangerous.
Why was she back in Britain?!
He had very much remembered threats of castration during his courting of Narcissa and his father was the only thing that had kept the woman away at the time.
But now Lucius was a fully grown wizard and his father was dead.
Lucius clenched the letter in his fist, his chest rising and falling with a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He would not fear a woman so many years his elder. He was an inner circle member who had earned his spot despite what many may think. He had killed his fair share of aurors in the glory days. How could he be afraid of some washed up second in command?
He looked over at Narcissa, his eyes searching her face for any sign of understanding, or perhaps guidance. "Cassiopeia Black summons us yet guises it as a visit?"
For a moment, he just stared at her, waiting for some response. None came.
His lips pressed together in a thin line.
Lucius exhaled sharply, a mix of resignation and annoyance clouding his gaze. "Very well."
His eyes flickered back to the letter. "I'll make sure we make a proper appearance, on our terms, of course."
Finally, with a movement that seemed almost theatrical, Lucius turned toward the door, still clutching the letter in his hand. As he passed through the doorway, he glanced back one last time at his silent wife before shaking his head leaving.
She lay on the cold, uneven floor of the cell, her body thin, too thin, like a bird that had forgotten how to fly. The once-vibrant curves of her face had sunken, hollowing out the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the cruel arch of her brow. Her hair, once a wild cascade of dark curls, now hung limp and matted around her head, the color faded to a dull, lifeless hue.
Her skin, a pretty pale to begin with, had taken on a sickly, waxen quality, stretched tight over the bones. Yet, despite it all, despite the weakness, the pain, the degradation, there remained something in her eyes. They hadn't lost their fire, those dark, burning eyes, still sharp and filled with that dangerous glint, though now they were tinged with something else, something feral.
Demonic.
She was defeated but not yet broken.
The guards were late today, but their clattering boots finally echoed down the hall. She heard them long before they came into view, gruff voices, words she couldn't make sense of, their language unknown to her.
They didn't bother to look at her as they entered, the pity that might've once softened their gaze long gone. Instead, they threw the food at her, the meal landing with a wet slap on the floor.
'So they know who I am now. I had been wondering how long the background check would take.' Escape was looking dimmer and dimmer.
She dragged herself forward, barely able to lift her limbs as they scraped painfully against the ground. There was no dignity left, only a gnawing, hollow ache inside her stomach, a hunger that eclipsed everything else.
She reached for the bread, her fingers trembling as they brushed the damp floor, and brought it to her mouth. It was stale, hard, and tasted of rot. She didn't care. She bit into it, her teeth sinking into the toughness with a savage desperation.
She would live.
The broth that came next was even worse, thick and foul. She recoiled for a moment, but the hunger was too much, and she crawled closer to lap at it like some lowly creature.
She would live.
But then, something caught her eye.
A thin slip of paper, barely visible beneath a broken shard of bread. She froze, every instinct in her snapping to attention. There was no reason for the guards to have left anything like this for her. They didn't care enough to taunt her, or to mock her with anything other than the barest scraps of food. And yet, there it was, something that didn't belong in this miserable place.
A letter.
Her heart quickened, her fingers, pale and trembling, reached out, brushing the coarse parchment before she picked it up, holding it in her hands like it was the most precious thing in the world. It was a letter from her family. She could recognize this seal anywhere.
It was real. She wasn't imagining it.
For a moment, she just stared at it, as if unsure whether to open it or destroy it right there in her hands. Her family, both sides had turned her away when she had gone to them vulnerable and alone after he had been slain.
She didn't blame them.
This was her second time being imprisoned after all. It was clear she could not change her ways. It was just right to abandon those who could not catch up. Just as her lord had done to her when she had begun weakening and just as she had done to her. However unlike her Lord she did not try to kill the girl.
Almost reverently, she began to peel back the edges, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
Bellatrix Lestrange read the letter slowly, her eyes widening with each line.
…
She rubbed her blurry eyes.
The woman slowly brought a thumb up to her lips, nipping at the skin and allowed the blood to fall onto the parchment. Soon enough it crumbled and hope was deposited into the woman's lap.
She gripped the wand, nearly moaning in ecstasy as power ripped through her being. It had been so long….she thought while wrapping herself inside the cloak.
She pointed her wand towards the bars of her cell and with a flash of light they disappeared and both her guards dropped when venomous green struck their backs.
To my foolish little niece.
She moved like a shadow through the dark, stone corridors of the prison, her eyes glinting in madness.
I write to you, not out of concern, but out of sheer disappointment. It pains me to see what you have become, Bellatrix, a shadow of the woman I once hoped might possess a semblance of grace and cunning. Instead, you have let your bloodlust and insatiable hunger for power completely cloud your judgment.
Her bare feet made no sound against the cold stone, each step calculated. The guard ahead, a hulking man with a dull gaze, was oblivious. His back was turned, and he did not even feel her presence until it was too late.
You've allowed your mind to become so consumed with ambition that you've forgotten everything that truly matters, loyalty, self respect, and, most of all, your own survival.
With a simple flick of her wand, the guard's body jerked violently. His mouth opened in a soundless scream as his throat constricted, choked by a near invisible line of string she wove around him. He collapsed in a crumpled heap at her feet, the life snuffed out before he could even comprehend what was happening.
You've proven time and time again that your stubbornness knows no bounds, and yet, I was foolish enough to offer you chances. Even when I knew you were treading dangerous ground with the Dark Lord, I interceded. I used what little influence I had left in Britain to free you from the chains of Azkaban, something that cost me dearly, something I did not do lightly.
Bellatrix didn't pause. She was a predator, and the thrill of death was a sensation she hadn't felt in far too long and she reveled in it, slinking along the walls. She was invisible to all but the shadows themselves. There were no voices, no footsteps echoing to warn anyone.
Do you even comprehend the depth of your stupidity? You are a disgrace to the entire bloodline. I thought you would stand for something, something greater than this pathetic, reckless pursuit of destruction. The Dark Lord is no master to serve, and if you think this will end in anything other than ruin, you are even more foolish than I imagined.
The next guard appeared around a corner, a young man, cocky, his wand dangling carelessly at his side. She could sense his arrogance, the way he was entirely unaware of the danger around him. They had grown lax in the lower the prison provided them.
Bellatrix's lips curled into a feral smile as she drew closer.
I will give you one final chance, Bellatrix.
She raised her wand, and a whisper escaped her lips: "Muffliato." silencing everything within a ten-foot radius. The guard's eyes widened as he looked around in confusion, sensing something was amiss, but before he could react, Bellatrix moved in.
I should have washed my hands of you long ago but this old woman will take a leap of faith. For the last time.
With another flick, his wand was skittering across the floor, far beyond his reach. The man's eyes went wide, but by the time his mouth opened to shout, the Cruciatus Curse was upon him like a coil of fiery tendrils. His body contorted in agony, and he fell to the floor in spasms, shaking, a muffled scream rising in his throat. Bellatrix's eyes glinted with satisfaction, but she did not give him the mercy of a quick death. She let him suffer, prolonging the agony just enough for the pain he wrought on her.
It took only moments before he lay still, motionless, silent.
Broken.
She moved on.
Show me the brilliant witch you were meant to be, the overachiever I had seen when you were but a child.
Each guard she encountered was dealt with swiftly, silent, lethal, and without mercy. They were scattered like flies and fell similarly. Not a single person she had seen was left alive. The bodies piled in her wake, their deaths unnoticed.
Or I will let you rot in whatever dark corner of the world you find yourself in next.
One guard tried to run, his hand reaching for a reaching for his wand to raise an alarm, but Bellatrix was faster. A flick of her wand and his body stiffened, petrified in mid-step. She watched him topple, frozen in place, his face twisted in the moment of panic before a cutting curse severed his head with a splatter.
If you need incentive, you have a new family member out there. One with great potential. A child of Sirius'.
The next guard, however, was not some naive fool. She could hear the measured, careful steps before he rounded the corner. He knew something was wrong. But he would never know how close to death he truly was.
Bellatrix flattened herself against the stone wall, holding her breath as he drew near. She watched him, noting the sharpness in his eyes, the tension in his grip on his wand. He wasn't young or careless. He was experienced. But even the most experienced could be undone by the right spell at the right moment.
He was within arm's reach now. Bellatrix's pulse quickened, but her face remained calm, serene, happy even. She stepped out of the shadows in an instant, appearing before him.. His eyes widened in recognition, but it was too late. A flash of green light surged from her wand, a killing curse so fast, so sure, that there was no time for a last thought, no chance to react.
I'm sure he wouldn't mind having a certain Aunt Bella to have as family.
The guard crumpled to the floor, lifeless. and Bellatrix barely spared him a second glance, her eyes already set on the final goal. She was so close now. The Apparition chamber where she was brought in from was up ahead.
The corridors stretched on, but Bellatrix was no longer concerned with stealth. No one would stand between her and freedom.
She walked boldly.
Finally, she reached the heart of the prison, the door to the Apparition room. One last obstacle.
And your own daughter has become quite the witch, no thanks to you. Luckily enough she is nothing like you nor her father.
She cared not for subtlety anymore, she struck.
"Avada Kedavra," she bellowed, the curse a hiss on her lips, and the guard collapsed with barely a sound.
The door stood open before her now.
With a single, smooth motion, Bellatrix stepped through the threshold, and in an instant, she felt the wards washing off her body like water.
And just like that, she was gone…above the prison atop of the roof.
Either way it is your choice to make. Stay stagnant and die or join the rest of us and live as a proper human being.
Bellatrix looked down at the prison with a happy smile. It felt good to be free but she had one last thing to do-
Oh and do be a dear and clean up your messes properly? You were always a messy eater.
A joyful cackle left off the skinny woman's lips as the tip of her wand blazed red-!
"Oooh with pleasure my dear Aunty! Bella is a good girl!"
Inferno of Unimaginable Proportions Engulfs Russian Prison – Was It Really an Accident?"
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Volgograd, Russia. The night sky over a small but formidable magical Russian detention facility was lit by the kind of flames most people only associate with the underworld, fiendish, unpredictable, and terrifying. A 'tragic accident' was the official explanation given by local authorities, but sources close to the situation suggest something much darker might have been at play.
In the early hours of the morning, a violent blaze tore through the Volgograd Penal Facility, a medium-security institution housing dangerous criminals and political dissidents alike. The fire, which many have described as "too intense to be natural," quickly spread across the complex, reducing the prison to a smoldering ruin.
Despite the swift intervention of Russian Aurors, the prison, built in the Soviet era and still holding more than 100 inmates, was completely destroyed in less than an hour.
Local officials have claimed it was simply an enchantment fault, but eyewitnesses, whose identities have been conveniently "lost" to the authorities, report seeing the unmistakable telltale signs of Fiendfyre, an ancient and extremely dangerous magical fire capable of burning through almost anything. And when one considers the nature of the prisoners housed there, one can't help but wonder: Was this truly an accident? Or was it an expertly executed act of sabotage by those desperate to silence the voices within?
With rumors circulating that some of the prisoners were known to have been linked to dangerous magical groups, and others alleged to have information that could embarrass the Russian government, the possibility of foul play seems more plausible by the minute. Who would want to cover up such a blaze? And more importantly, who would have the means to conjure such destructive fire?
When I took to the streets to gather reactions, I found a curious mixture of fear and satisfaction. "Good riddance," said one local who had witnessed the fire from his house's window. "They were all criminals. Low life scum. No one's going to mourn them. The world's better off without them."
Another resident, a woman who preferred to remain anonymous, echoed a similar sentiment. "I've heard the stories about what goes on in there," she said, her voice tinged with what could only be described as relief. "If the fire was an accident, well, that's unfortunate. But if it was something more... maybe it's for the best."
Even a former prison guard, who once worked at the facility and now resides in a nearby town, admitted, "Some of those people... they deserved it. Grinde We never knew what horrors they were plotting behind those walls but I still weep for my fellow guards."
Sources suggest that the flames may have been deliberately summoned by a figure well-versed in dark magic, but authorities are still reluctant to comment on the specifics. One Ministry of Magic official who insisted on remaining unnamed was quoted as saying, "We are aware of the reports, but any speculation about magical interference is purely conjecture as this is out of our jurisdiction."
The true story, however, may never come to light. In the meantime, a small handful of prisoners, those who managed to escape the burning inferno, are now missing, and the public is advised to take extreme caution when going out and about their lives.
One thing is certain: if Fiendfyre was indeed the cause, this wasn't a simple 'accident', it was an act of calculated destruction. Perhaps it was an inside job, or perhaps a message from forces far beyond the reach of any government. Either way, the ramifications are sure to reverberate across borders and for Russia's magical population as a whole.
Stay tuned, dear readers, as the investigation unfolds. You know I'll be watching closely to deilver the truth.
More on page 6.
"This world is very dangerous. I need to up my studies." Harry mumbled to himself, folding the Daily Prophet with a soft snap before placing it on his lap. The paper seemed almost insignificant now, its latest headlines blurring into the background as he stared absently at the room around him.
The sterile white walls of the St. Mungo's hospital room felt more oppressive than reassuring with his godfather lying motionless, a thin line of sweat glistening on his forehead, the sickness he had picked up unknown.
Harry's fingers traced the spine of the book in his hands, the leather cover worn and faded from frequent use. It was a textbook on enchantment wards, something he'd picked up on a whim, though he found the content coming very easy for some reason. Like he could feel the magic on the tip of his wand before he even casted.
He glanced back at Sirius, whose chest rose and fell steadily, though the sickly pallor of his skin made Harry's stomach churn. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Sirius was the one who was supposed to pull Harry out of the mess. Now he was the one who needed saving.
"Stay with me, Padfoot," Harry whispered. "I don't know what I'll do without you."
Closing the book with a snap, Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustration gnawing at him. There was so much to learn, so much he still didn't understand despite his newly found ease of learning.
And no one to guide him because he didn't even know if he could get back into Hogwarts or if he even should.
But he couldn't afford to wait. He glanced back at the book, then at Sirius.
"Right. More studying it is," Harry muttered though he was surprised when the pretty apprentice healer who had been tending to his Godfather came in…
With someone else.
"Good Morning. Ms Griselda? How are you? Who is this?" Harry asked politely as the woman gave him a kind smile.
"Good morning! I am fine. This is Healer Tonks, Dudley. He's here to take a better look at your dad."
Harry frowned.
"I don't remember agreeing to this! Where is Healer Rosier?! She was doing a fine job already!" Harry was frustrated. He had already come to trust the old, no nonsense woman. It had been a burden off his mind to have someone who clearly didn't care to pry, treat his godfather. He absolutely couldn't allow anyone to know-
The nurse smiled but it came out strained. "Dudley-"
"Wait. Let me speak with him alone." The man held up a hand and the woman seemed relieved to be dismissed from the teens venomous green eyes.
Harry glared at the man and he watched as he recoiled a bit before smiling disarmingly.
"Dudley is it? May I si-"
"I don't own the hospital." Harry spat quickly.
"Right you are but it is still good manners to ask when intruding in another's space."
That Harry hadn't been expecting as his eyes widened minutely before narrowing.
"So you know? Then please get Healer Rosier back please. She was doing a good job already and I'd rather have a healer who is already experienced in treating my g-father to attend to him. He will have less issues that way."
The man gave him a surprised look.
"You've thought this out quite well son. Unfortunately if you look at page 4 in that paper you will find the reason why she had to leave."
Harry wasn't a fool. He knew the man wouldn't lie about something so easily checked but still double checked and was surprised.
"A shotgun marriage between Kenneth Rosier and an unnamed Parkinson family branch bride?" Harry was in disbelief at the sheer coincidence and embarrassed by his foolish outburst.
He hid his head in the paper pretending to look more as the man chuckled.
"Well now that you know, shall we introduce ourselves once again? I am Healer Edward Tonks and I focus on blood and bone ailments though I dabble in more."
Harry looked reluctantly at the man's hand that was extended towards him and decided it couldn't be so bad.
"Dudley Dursley, uhhh kid, nice to meet you sir."
"Nice to meet you too…Dudley."