CHAPTER 114: No Rest For The Wicked (Part 1)

London

May 2nd, 1996

6:45 p.m.

The light blue glow encompassed the entire city, replacing the eerie green dome the Death Eaters had put in place the previous night. Countless lightning bolts flashed across the sky, arching downwards away from the epicentre and striking down on the ground bordering the city limits, leaving soft yet constant echoes of thunder. He could see how similar the magic was between the two spells. With Rookwood being found as a traitor at the end of the last war, it shouldn't come as a surprise, but it still didn't help him relax while being surrounded by Unspeakables. They didn't speak. Didn't even spare him a glance as they went about their orders. Not even a glimpse of their humanity was revealed through their purple cloaks.

They stood out among all the other wizards in the city, not just because of how brightly coloured their robes were. You could feel their presence, there was even something unnerving in the way they moved around the city. Always in pairs. Always in sync. While everyone else sought to help the muggles that were trapped underneath the wreckages or get those in need of medical attention, the Unspeakables began rounding all of them up. Obliviating them with startling efficiency before portkeying them to a so-called secure location, where they would stay until they were cleared to be returned to the city. And while everyone else began working on fixing the streets, restoring the buildings and everything around them, the Unspeakables lurked in all the abandoned places, searching for any muggles that might be hiding or trying to evade them. The fact that they were all doing it in plain sight, with a clear lack of concern about people noticing, made it all the more eerie.

Rufus limped through the rubble, squeezing in between the clusters of abandoned cars and underneath the remnants of fallen debris as he made his way across the street. The Ministry had been working non-stop on the reparations for nearly seventeen hours now, a joint effort between all departments regardless of what their respective job descriptions entailed, but it barely looked it. London was still in ruins, and based on his previous six jumps, so were the rest of the cities the Death Eaters had sieged. Nearly every building in sight had either been burnt to the ground or torn half to hell. Most of the bridges had completely collapsed, the roads were filled with craters, and he had even seen a few trains pulled from the underground and sticking to the side of establishments around the city.

At least the streets were clear of corpses now. He would never forget the sight from the previous night, the sheer amount of people that had been tortured and torn apart and left on the pavement. The eyes, horrified and panic-stricken still after death, their last glimpse being their own insides on the ground beside them. It had been over fifty years since the wizarding world had seen such a raw display of the horrors that could be brought upon with a wand. Not since Grindelwald himself razed Europe had someone dared such a brutal display, such a carelessness for the Statute of Secrecy. It was something Rufus had never thought he'd see, and now he knew he would many times over before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dealt with.

If that ever even happened, that was.

"Head Auror Scrimgeour, sir," one of the Aurors called out to him, a rookie whose name he still couldn't remember. The girl dashed through the street towards him, leaving behind a group of three or four Aurors. "Has there been any news, sir? Have they found…"

"No," Rufus straightened up, but still didn't meet the girl's eye. "Not yet. You'll all be made aware once she's been found. I'll make sure of it."

"Yeah, of course. She's a tough one, Madam Bones. The first thing she'll do will be scolding us for taking too long."

The girl gave a soft laugh, but Rufus could only muster a smile.

"How's the progress going here?"

"Slow, I'm afraid. The purple cloaks want to make sure all the muggles are found before we fully begin reparations. We've searched through most of the city by now, but we still haven't been given the go sign."

"Unspeakables have always been a pain in the arse," Rufus muttered. "Any other reports you have ready? Death tolls? Interrogation transcripts? Any physical evidence found across the city?"

"Last I heard, Dedworth was working on the preliminaries. He should have some reports ready for you, sir. We moved our camp to Trafalgar Square earlier in the morning, you can probably find him there."

When Dolohov had blasted his way out of his cell the previous night, Rufus had been resting in the only tent that wasn't impacted by the explosion. It had tarnished all the work that had been done in London and killed most of the Aurors that had remained behind. Now that the entire Ministry was involved in the restoration process, they needed a lot more space and a much better location to base themselves out of. The camp was nearly five times larger than the impromptu headquarters they had set up the previous night. It was like a beating heart, people flowing in and out of it at a rapid pace. He saw men carrying wounded wizards into the infirmaries, Unspeakables quickly tending to muggles before obliviating them, there were even witches and wizards he recognised from outside the Ministry that were there, helping out just the same. It was an uplifting sight in the middle of all the carnage.

He found Dedworth nearly twenty minutes later, cramped into a corner desk surrounded by mountains of paperwork. Rufus barely got a few words out of his Auror before he was handed a bulk of parchments and all but nicely told to fuck off. The findings were very superficial, there wasn't any concrete numerical data that he would be able to present to Amelia and his superiors, and the summary from most of the interviews related things they already knew from other sources. It was disappointing, but expected, with an attack of this scale it could take various weeks before they manage to single out crucial leads from all the bulk or determine accurately in numbers the damage the Death Eaters made.

Rufus stayed in London for another hour, questioning a few of the Aurors he came across in the camp for any additional information. Still, besides stories of Death Eaters found hurt or near death well after the siege, he didn't get anything else valuable.

The Atrium had been mostly fixed by the time he arrived back at the Ministry. The rubble had been cleared out and the damage on the ground was fixed, but there was still the gaping hole in the roof that evinced the pandemonium that had taken place. Otherwise, the Atrium was just as when he had left it earlier that morning, packed with a relentless revolving door of reporters, civilians, and government officials attempting to keep them from storming into the premises. He pushed his way through the crowd, and two of the Aurors that had been posted at the entrance immediately ran to him and opened up a pathway for him to cross.

"Head Auror Scrimgeour, any comments on the attacks?"

"What is being done to stop something like this from happening again?"

"Was that really You-Know-Who in the pictures?"

"What about Potter?" One of the journalists managed to sneak past the Aurors and got right in Rufus' face. "Where's the boy? What is being done about it?"

Three more Aurors came to his aid, pulling the reporter away from him and clearing the path to the lifts. "Head Auror Scrimgeour has no comments at the moment," one of the Aurors said. "The Ministry will send out a statement by tonight."

"Head Auror Scrimgeour, sir!"

"What is being done about the Death Eaters?"

"Are we even safe any more?"

The Auror posted on the desk quickly checked him, casting a quick spell on him and checking his wand before letting him through. As soon as he walked past the threshold, all the voices faded away as if no one was even there.

"Sorry about that, sir," Proudfoot said as he greeted him, shaking Rufus' hand and escorting him over to the lifts. "They've been at it all day. We haven't had any luck stopping them."

"No need to apologise," Rufus waved him off. "Has Madame Edgecombe cleared the use for the personnel floos yet?"

"No, only the visitor's entrance."

"If she would have found something, she would have done so already."

"I agree, sir, but you know how Madame Edgecombe operates."

The doors to the lift opened and Rufus stepped inside. "Keep me posted on her progress, alright? We need to get the floo access back up as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir," Proudfoot nodded.

When he arrived at Level Two and sensed the solemnity in the air, Rufus was reminded of why he had been avoiding the Ministry for as long as he could. They were still there, concealed by the white sheets, but their shape was far from hidden. At least they didn't smell any more. The room was painted with dried blood and the floor covered in parchments and glass and the rest of the remnants of the wrecked furniture. He barely glanced at it, and couldn't even meet the face of the few Aurors in the room still cataloguing the evidence so that the room could be cleaned up. It had been bad enough, being the first one to come across the scene early in the morning. He had sentenced those boys to death, not knowingly, but he had nonetheless. Worse than Amelia's absence was the knowledge of why the Death Eaters had come down here in the first place. In his obsession with Potter, he had used Granger like a pawn, and she'd been the one to pay for it. The state she'd been in when he saw her at St Mungo's…

There were too many people he couldn't look straight in the eye after last night. Far too many.

"Sir," His assistant, spoke softly behind him. The poor girl had had her wand stolen by Potter in his escapes, yet another one of his failures. Rufus was only incredibly thankful she hadn't been here when the Death Eaters had entered the Ministry. "The Minister… he, uh, asked for you."

"Tell him I'll be right over. Thank you, Chelsea."

Having everything he needed with him, Rufus was able to avoid loitering and immediately went to find the Minister. He was grateful for the excuse to leave. Hopefully, by the time he made it back to Level Two, the Aurors would have finished their work and cleaned up the scene. He didn't think he would be able to work just with knowing what was right behind his door.

The Minister's office had a small antechamber outside where his secretary, a boy named Haywood, worked and acted as an intermediary between the Minister and his visitors. While usually there were no more than two or three people, today, just like the Atrium, it was completely filled. Only instead of reporters and the average citizen, Fudge had nearly all the Heads of Houses, various high-ranking Wizengamot officials, and even some international diplomats who resided in the country.

"If you could all please- The Minister will get- Your patience is appreciated-"

The poor secretary could barely maintain order with everyone there insisting on their need to see the Minister, each yelling it louder than the previous one. Rufus felt for the boy, there was really nothing he could do.

He slowly made his way across the room as he tried to appease the concerned officials with his progress, while also seeking any news from the other Heads of the Ministry. Thankfully, a few moments after the Haywood boy caught his eye, a paper plane flew in and out of the Minister's office, and he was called to step inside. All the others who had been waiting there for hours at this point immediately erupted in outrage, and Rufus merely gave a curt smile as he walked past everyone and headed into the office. Fudge was a mess, with purple circles under his eyes, his gray hair sticking out from everywhere, and the lack of a bowler hat revealing the large bald patch at the top of his head. His eyes all but lit up the moment he spotted Rufus. He quickly finished writing whatever letter was in his hand before throwing the quill on the desk and standing up.

"Ah, Rufus, thank Merlin you're here," Fudge said, trying to appear calm and channel that social butterfly in him that earned him his position. If it had not been for the slaughter that brought it upon, Rufus would have the barest hints of satisfaction at the man's downfall. Fudge shook his hand, a tad too vigorously, and Rufus returned it politely. "Thank Merlin. Yes… yes… please, have a seat."

The two men sat opposite each other, and Fudge's smile faded when he saw that Rufus wasn't reciprocating much.

"What can I do for you, Minister?"

"It's madness out there, Rufus. Madness! The people won't settle. The entire country is looking to me and I have no answers. Even the ICW has been sending owls demanding to be informed of the situation. The Muggles- I don't know how, but they're beginning to take notice. They know something's wrong. Not even back then… when You-Know-Who… the Ministry was infiltrated for Merlin's sake and now…"

If it wasn't for how Fudge had been acting ever since the end of the Triwizard Tournament last year, he would have felt pity looking at the man, but a part of Rufus still felt that he deserved this. "What do you need of me, Minister?"

"Anything! It's been nearly a full day and I still don't know what to say to the public. What have you found in your investigation?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," Rufus pulled out the parchments in his robes and handed them to Fudge. "We apprehended nearly one hundred and thirty snatchers, most without any life-threatening injuries. We are interrogating them as we speak, but very few have actually talked, and… well… the Death Eaters have never been sloppy in what they reveal to their foot soldiers."

"Just snatchers?" Fudge asked. "No actual Death Eater? Nobody of importance?"

"Dolohov is death. He was the leader of the London attacks, we think You-Know-Who himself welcomed him to the Pantheon, his body was in the Department of Mysteries. Pyrites is also dead, killed by Kingsley in the West Yorkshire siege."

"Pyrites?"

"You may know him as Hephaestus."

"That's it?" Fudge demanded, searching through the contents of the parchments. "Two Death Eaters, one who only just showed up in the scene some months ago?"

"It's all we have at the moment, but I doubt there'll be any more. We'll continue our investigations with the snatchers we found, a lot of them are middle-class pure-bloods, they'll most likely be the ones to break, but I can't promise anything."

"It's not enough! The public will want more, they'll want real progress in the news, not just reports of some unnamed snatchers being captured. They saw what happened. There are pictures out there, mighty Morgana! They know. They all know You-Know-Who is back. How am I supposed to explain that? How am I supposed to reassure people that everything will be alright."

"You don't," Rufus said calmly. "The public doesn't need to be reassured, sir, they need to be told the truth. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, that is no longer a subject of doubt, and with his return, he brings dark times to Britain. Most of us were alive back then, we all saw what he is capable of, and after last night we can safely say he's no longer concerned with maintaining the Statute of Secrecy or winning the country by swaying the public to his side. This is a war to him now, and he will be king of the ashes if that's all that remains. The people need to know that, and we need to face that because if we keep denying ourselves, last night's sieges won't be the last."

Fudge looked sick. His face had somehow got more gaunt. Shakily, he reached down to his cupboards and pulled out a couple of glasses and a bottle of Firewhisky. Setting it on the table, he methodically filled each cup before handing Rufus his own. "I'm going to resign after this," he said. "Not now, in a few weeks. Once the immediate aftermath has been dealt with and the country has healed from these attacks."

Rufus took a sip of his glass, one more conservative than the Minister's.

"I was never meant to have this job, I know that," Fudge continued. "Dumbledore refused the position, as he always has. Then Crouch had that whole scandal with his son and was all but forced to resign. It should have gone to Amelia, she was the more qualified of the two, but many Wizengamot members weren't keen on having two women prime ministers back-to-back. I'm ashamed to say I took advantage of that… I hope I can make things right… if we find her."

"We will find her."

"You just told me we shouldn't lie to the public, Rufus. If that's the case, then we shouldn't lie to ourselves either." Fudge took another swig of his glass. "I was foolish, I guess we all are when we're young and ambitious. I knew I wasn't fit for the position, but I wanted it anyway. Who doesn't want to make a name for themselves? Build a legacy that your children and grandchildren can look to with pride. You-Know-Who was gone, we were in the middle of peaceful times, and it seemed impossible to mess things up when everything was going so right. And now look at me. Whenever people talk of me, it'll be of how I let He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named return to power."

"And that's your greatest concern now?" Rufus asked coldly. "Your reputation."

"It seems so. What does it say of me as a man, do you think?" Rufus didn't answer. Fudge was still his boss, even if only for the moment. "I just wanted to do something good. Wanted to be remembered for it. I know it was selfish, but does that make it so awful?"

"You still can. Tell the people the truth. Resign and let Amelia take over."

"It's not like I have a choice. Even if I did, I don't think I'd have the courage to stay." Fudge muttered. "What about the boy?"

"Potter?"

He nodded. "You saw what he did, not even Dumbledore ever managed a feat like that."

Rufus hadn't just seen it, he'd felt it, the outpour of magic from the phoenix both times he had been in its presence. A part of him still didn't want to accept it. But he had been there when he'd done it, there were witnesses and pictures of it and when he saw the sheer fear in the eyes of the monster as he looked up at Potter, Rufus knew his worst fears had just been proven to be true. It no longer mattered that the Longbottom boy had supposedly vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, no one had been there to see it in the first place and now that he was proven to be alive, it made no difference. But everyone had been there when Potter defeated the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. There were pictures of the very moment the boy brought him to his knees. There was no need for further confirmation, no arduous process with the Department of Mysteries needed to release their analysis of the prophecy or their views on the situation. At this point, the phoenix was merely living proof that Potter had them all by the balls now. Anytime he wanted to gloat or demand something, he needed to only summon the creature, and he would get what he wanted, and there was no doubt in Rufus' mind that Potter would use and abuse that bloody bird.

"Has there been any news on him?" Fudge pressed.

"He's still unconscious from what Umbridge told me," Rufus answered. It was more than that, only the smallest hints of life coming through the healer's most recent diagnosis. Rufus was fine with that, the boy could rest as long as he wanted to. The more time indisposed, the better for him. It allowed him to think, to plan, to come to terms with the fact that he was now going to have to work with the bastard.

Fudge knew it too, from the way he was looking at him. "He knows, doesn't he? The power he'll wield, just how much leverage he truly has over us?"

"Potter's a smart boy, I'm sure he's figured it out. Just by the way everyone will be reacting to him and his bloody phoenix, he'll know."

"And what will happen when he does?" Fudge asked. "What will he ask for, do you think?"

"Immunity, for starters. After all he's done, he'll want his slate wiped clean. And with the attacks at Hogwarts, someone polyjuicing as him just made it very easy for the bastard to have a clean way off. Beyond that… I'm not sure."

"You should be. That's the first thing you need to figure out," Fudge said darkly. "I'm not going to be here for long, I won't get to work with the boy. But if you want to retain equal footing with him, find out what he really wants."

"So that I can give it to him?"

He shook his head. "So that you can keep it from him. Make him work for it, keep his focus solely on that. If you make him forget he can ask for everything else, you won't have to give him anything else."

The phoenix gave Potter an unimaginable power, but fortunately, it had an expiration date. If they could end the war quickly enough without giving much to Potter in the process, they wouldn't lose much. Immunity was a given, a show of good faith to get the boy to help them. And even then, if Potter really wanted to, he could always use his phoenix to escape from whatever cell they put him in. But anything else, Rufus didn't know how much he would be able to stomach. He hated Harry Potter. Hated him to his very core. The boy represented everything Rufus abhorred, the chaos and egocentrism and lawlessness that he had always fought against in his time as an Auror. But he would work with him, side by side if he had to, because as bad as Potter was, he did not compare to the atrocities He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could commit.

If after all was said and done, Harry Potter had to be dealt with, Rufus would see to it personally then.

Barnton

May 4th, 1996

9:00 a.m.

It was a gray morning that met them in the graveyard, with rain falling softly all over the small village they had chosen. It had been Andromeda's birthplace, and when she had said she wanted to lay her daughter to rest there, the others thought it fitting for Hestia and Deadlaus, the other two casualties the Order had, to be laid to rest with her. They were all there, paying their respects to the fallen. It hadn't mattered to the half of them who had barely slept in the past few days after they helped in the aftermath of the city sieges, nor to the other half who were still in recovery from their injuries of battle. They all came. It was a small detail, one that most would simply ignore, but it was one of the few lights that still shone after that night.

They had a small ceremony, to maintain the secrecy of their involvement, only the members of the Order were involved. Gellert came too. He was watching from the distance, a lonely shadow determined to honour the loss of life they had. Albus was grateful for the gesture, but when he'd told Gellert that his old friend had only given him a sad smile and said: "It's not for you." Still, given how they wanted to maintain Gellert's escape from Nurmengard under wraps, he could not join them properly.

After the ceremony was finished, they all moved back to Grimmauld for the wake. The mood wasn't helped by the cold, dark house, nor by the fact that the owner still hadn't been found after the dust cleared on the battle of the Department of Mysteries. The added space in the room was also becoming more and more noticeable. It had been a little less than a year since they held their first official meeting of the new Order of the Phoenix assembling, and back then the room had been completely filled. It was loud, and alive, and there was very little space to move around. Now it was only half-full, people separated into groups and whispering their conversations. It felt empty, and by the looks Aberforth and Alastor were giving him, it wasn't just him.

He needed to do something, find a way to dispel this curse that had fallen upon them. But just as he was trying to think of something to say, Andromeda Tonks took the opportunity from him. She cleared her throat, looking directly at Albus as she asked, "So what happens now?"

Albus sighed. "These attacks were something unprecedented. Voldemort proved that he isn't planning on fighting this war like he did last time. We need time to plan and readjust-"

"That's not what I mean, and you fucking know it," Andromeda spat, and the room turned silent.

"The prophecy."

"You're damn right," Augusta Longbottom spoke up. "You told me the night my Frank died that it was all because of a prophecy, one about Neville and You-Know-Who. And now that stupid boy gets his arm burnt off and Potter gets a phoenix, and now the prophecy is suddenly about him."

"Prophecies are subjective," Aberforth said. "Always in flux. Its meaning can rarely be confirmed before the prophecy has been fulfilled. There was always a risk, you knew that from the beginning."

"But zat is not what you 'ave been telling Neville," Fleur said, her tone edging on anger. "Ze poor boy 'as been living zinking zat 'e ees zis Boy-Who-Lived. You all 'ave been raising 'eem as if 'e was ze one of zis prophecy."

"Whatever ideas Longbottom has been making in his head is his own doing," Alastor growled. "We have never told him any of the sort or tried to raise him to be some sort of warrior. In any sense, Potter is a much better fit for the prophecy than that boy!"

"That is not some grand achievement, I can assure you of that," Augusta scoffed.

"Must you always belittle your own grandson, Augusta?" Minerva said with distaste.

"This isn't about Neville," Andromeda snapped. "It's about Potter! You saw everything he's done, Albus. You knew about it and only hid it from us! And now, what, he gets away with it all? Isn't that what the Order is about, to stop monsters like him?"

"That boy saved my family," Molly thundered. "My husband! My sons! He's not the monster here, Andromeda."

"Does it only count when he saves your family?" Andromeda said darkly. "What about everything he did before that? Does it just disappear? And what about my daughter, huh? Why didn't he save her!"

"Are you suggesting he did that on purpose?" Albus asked calmly.

"He knew about the attacks, Albus. Do you really think he told us everything? Do you think he wasn't a part of them from the beginning? He suddenly plays the hero, and now all is forgiven? Now he's our saviour? Now we're supposed to bow to him? Does that really feel right to you?"

"No one is asking you to bow, Andromeda. Yes, Harry is most certainly involved with the prophecy, I don't think there's any denying now. We'll need his help. We'll bring him into the fold as much as we can. The fact that he fought with us against the Death Eaters is a good sign. The last thing we want to do is drive him away into Voldemort's grasp. We've done enough of that already."

Andromeda scoffed. "You're so fucking stupid. I don't know how I'm just seeing it now. Merlin, I was an idiot for ever thinking the contrary."

"Watch your tone," Alastor warned.

"Watch yours, Mad-Eye," Augusta snapped.

"Yes," Albus sighed. "I was, for a long time. Not any more, I don't think."

"Potter is manipulating you, you old fool! He'll play you and get whatever he wants from you before deserting you because he knows you're too fucking guilt-ridden that you'd do anything for him just to clean up your sins. My cousin is missing and you don't care! You haven't said anything about it yet. Voldemort is out there in full force, and we've been wasting our time all year. You couldn't even pick the right boy of the prophecy, for Merlin's sake."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Cry me a fucking river," Andromeda snarled. "My daughter is dead, and it's all because I trusted you with her. Well, not any more." She stood up, her chair nearly toppling behind her as she did. "If you're going to be the person leading the charge against You-Know-Who, then I don't want any part in it. I'll find somewhere else to help."

She stormed out of the room, leaving a blaring silence in her wake. But it didn't last long as Augusta Longbottom stood up as well, and with barely a glare back at Albus walked out of the room as well. Fleur stood up next, looking genuinely regretful when she spoke. "I'm sorry, Professor Dumblydoor, but I can't continue here either. I just… can't trust in your leadership any more." Dearborn and Flitwick followed, the latter's exit hurting Albus more than all the others after all the years they worked together at Hogwarts. Still, he couldn't blame him, Albus was well aware of how angry Flitwick was at him for allowing Umbridge to fire him earlier in the year.

It was only after everyone who had left was well and truly gone that Mundungus spoke up. "This is a fight we can't win, Albus. We're better off without trying."

He left too, and that kitchen that had once been full now had over half its chairs empty.

Eldritch Castle

May 5th, 1996

3:25 a.m.

He felt the shackles digging at his wrists, painfully cutting at the skin any time he moved. At first, he thought it was accidental, but after being awake for the past seven hours like that, he realised it was on purpose. His toes could barely touch the ground, and that was if he stood on them, he was all but hanging from those chains. Naked. He'd vomited the first time he looked down at himself, seeing his entire torso filled with large cuts that were gruesomely and improperly stitched up with some sort of string. Every time he breathed he could feel them, as if they were about to burst every time he did it.

There was no light, nothing but the feel of the cold stone on his bare toes. It was a miracle that he was still alive. He remembered the battle, felt himself nearly pass to the other side after all the damage he suffered. He should have died. He wanted to die. Whatever fate awaited him, it couldn't be worse than this.

His stomach growled, his toes had gone numb a long time ago. His body was beginning to fail, and just as he was feeling himself drift back into unconsciousness, he heard it. Those little bursts of giggles from the other side of the room as the torches in the basement suddenly lit themselves. The place was just as filthy as he remembered it, he wished he could say this was his first time in the Lestrange dungeons. The memories woke him up. Using his grip on the chains, Sirius forced himself to his full stature as Bellatrix opened the door to his cell.

"You're finally awake, cousin," she smiled wickedly and pulled out a few pieces of ham from her pockets. "Here, have some food." She threw them at his chest, and they fell to the ground, completely ruined.

"Why am I here?" Sirius growled. "You should've just killed me."

She laughed, hysterically, and then she stopped. Her face went cold, and only then did Sirius truly feel unnerved. "No, not yet. You have to earn it." Bellatrix smiled again. "You turned your back on your family, Sirius. Betrayed us for some blood traitors, even got your own brother to join your filth!" She pulled out something from her robes, a wand, he recognised, and just as he realised it was his Bellatrix snapped it in front of him. "You're no wizard. Not any more, Siri."

"You… you… I'm going to-"

Bellatrix immediately stopped laughing and grabbed him by the face, pressing on his cheeks painfully. "You're going to stay here. Alone. Abandoned. And when you finally come out and see the world once again, it'll be my Master's world. You'll live under his rule. You'll see our perfect world. You'll be a part of me. You once told me you would rather die than join our cause. Well, now you don't get to die until you've lived in our world, knowing that all your Mudbloods and blood traitors are either dead or serving us. And you'll do it all without your wand. Without your magic."

"You bitch!" Sirius snarled, madly pulling at his chains as Bellatrix smiled up at him. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

"Welcome to your new world, cousin," she laughed wickedly as she turned around and slammed the door to his cell shut. "It's the only one you'll know now."

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

We're finally about to start the final arc of the book, so be excited! By the time I'm posting this, I'm THIRTEEN chapters ahead, and I am starting to write the second arc of Book 2 of the Pray For The Wicked Saga! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

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