February arrived at a gallop. On the very first morning of the new month, Berenice gave an abrupt yelp as she smoothed out the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table.
"What?" said Adrian and Eleanor in unison, both dropping their forks with a clatter.
Berenice didn't answer immediately. She thrust the newspaper at them, her finger jabbing at the front page where ten grim-looking black-and-white photographs stared out from the newsprint.
BELLATRIX LESTRANGE AMONG TEN DEATH EATERS ESCAPED FROM AZKABAN
Mass Breakout Shakes Wizarding Britain to Its Core
— Public Confidence in Ministry Reaches Breaking Point —
In an event that had sent shockwaves through the wizarding world, ten high-security prisoners had escaped from Azkaban, led by none other than Bellatrix Lestrange herself.
Lestrange, infamous for the brutal torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom and a devout follower of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was described as exceptionally dangerous and violently unstable. Her very name was enough to chill even the bravest wizard's heart, conjuring memories of the darkest days of the First Wizarding War.
Alongside her, the escapees included Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, Thorfinn Rowle, and Rabastan Lestrange, each bearing a history steeped in magical terrorism, murder, and conspiracy.
The Ministry of Magic had released a brief, strained statement confirming the breakout, though how such an event had occurred — with Dementors supposedly guarding the prison night and day — remained a mystery.
"The people are afraid," Milly Dawlish, a clerk from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, told the Prophet. "If someone like Bellatrix Lestrange can escape, then what hope have the rest of us?"
This incident follows uncomfortably close on the heels of the Ministry's public exoneration of Sirius Black, who spent twelve years in Azkaban without trial, only recently proven innocent by a reopened investigation led by Head of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones. Yet even as justice corrects one wrong, the Ministry's credibility crumbles further.
Minister Cornelius Fudge, facing mounting pressure, had issued a terse statement, urging the wizarding community not to panic. "The Ministry takes this matter seriously," he said, "and is investigating all possibilities. We must not fall prey to hysteria or wild speculation."
Yet confidence in the Ministry continued to crumble. An anonymous Auror summed up the feeling sweeping the country: "If they can't even name the enemy, how can they possibly fight him?"
There are whispers that the escapees have fled Britain, possibly to allies abroad in Eastern Europe or the Balkans — regions historically resistant to Ministry influence. Others believe they have regrouped inside the country, laying the groundwork for something darker.
There were even unconfirmed reports that Bellatrix had already retrieved her wand and begun gathering loyalists.
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has issued a high-alert bulletin, with orders to apprehend on sight — or in the case of Peter Pettigrew, who remains at large — authorization has been given for a Dementor's Kiss, should he be found.
In the aftermath of Sirius Black's vindication, the wizarding public must now wrestle with an unnerving truth: if the innocent can be imprisoned, and the guilty walk free, who, exactly, is keeping us safe?
"Oh, Morgana," Adrian muttered darkly, lowering the paper. "This is going to send shockwaves through the Ministry."
"Fudge's days are numbered," Eleanor heard Lucy Vane say a few seats down the table. "Heads will roll for this."
The tension in the Slytherin common room grew thick and cloying. Many students, whose families were known for treading a delicate line between light and dark, shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The news spread through Hogwarts like wildfire; hushed conversations broke out in corridors, and even the professors seemed tense, slipping into private discussions whenever they thought no one was looking.
It wasn't long before the Ministry's most loyal servant, Dolores Umbridge, enacted another desperate measure: Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six, which prohibited teachers from giving students any information unrelated to their subjects.
"Well, looks like our High Inquisitor is clutching at every shred of power she can grab," Berenice said under her breath.
The Gryffindors, however, refused to take the new decree seriously. That was, until Lee Jordan landed himself in detention after cheekily pointing out during Defence Against the Dark Arts that playing Exploding Snap had nothing whatsoever to do with dark magic.
"You idiot," Eleanor hissed later that evening, dabbing essence of Murtlap onto Jordan's raw hand outside the Fat Lady's portrait. "Just keep your head down in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Haven't you learnt by now?"
"At least we're not just sitting pretty and following the rules, Duchess," Jordan retorted. Eleanor jabbed the salve against his hand a little too enthusiastically.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked sharply, studying him.
Jordan clamped his mouth shut, realising he'd said too much.
"You fools," Eleanor muttered, exasperated. "Are you completely dense? Umbridge specifically forbade any unauthorised study groups. Oh, I really have to have words with that boy. He's far too much of a Gryffindor for his own good."
Turning to the Fat Lady, Eleanor said, "Would you mind fetching Harry for me? I need a word. That boy is going to be the end of me."
The Fat Lady let out a loud, theatrical sigh, but obliged. Moments later, Harry climbed through the portrait hole, looking slightly bewildered.
Since Astraea had cleared Sirius's name, Harry had been nothing but fiercely loyal to Eleanor. He even took her advice about Occlumency lessons — which, surprisingly, were going rather well. He had also written Astraea a long, earnest thank-you letter.
Without so much as a greeting, Eleanor grabbed his arm and dragged him aside.
"Are you dense?" she hissed. "Are you still running that Defence group you talked about at the Hog's Head?"
"How do you know about that?" Harry asked, startled.
"Because I overheard you," Eleanor snapped. "I thought you'd dropped the idea after Umbridge's decree, but clearly not."
"Well, it's not like we've got another option," Harry muttered stubbornly.
"True," Eleanor admitted, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "But you're going to get caught eventually. You have to be careful."
"We are," said Harry quickly. "We only meet at odd times, and we're using the Room of Requirement."
"The what now?"
"It's a special room on the seventh floor," Harry explained. "It appears only when you really need it and provides whatever you need."
"You mean… our abandoned classroom?" Eleanor gasped, suddenly understanding. "We can change it to suit our needs?"
"You use it too?" said Harry, wide-eyed.
"Of course. You didn't think I'd let that woman ruin our N.E.W.T. classes without doing something about it, did you?" Eleanor scoffed. "Berenice's father sends us volumes on the Dark Arts, disguised with harmless covers. Berenice, Adrian, and I practice there."
"So why are you scolding me, then?" Harry asked, grinning now.
"Because there are only three of us. We're not exactly forming an army. How many students have you got in your little club?"
Harry stared fixedly at his shoes. "Not quite fifty," he mumbled.
Eleanor's eyes bulged. "Merlin's beard, Harry!"
"I'm not stopping it," Harry said stubbornly. "Sirius thought it was a good idea. We've kept it secret this long. Besides, it feels brilliant teaching others something useful. You should see Neville — he mastered the Shield Charm faster than anyone would believe."
Eleanor sighed heavily. "I know," she said. Then, reaching up, she ruffled his already-messy hair. "Just promise me you'll be careful. Sirius would never forgive me if I didn't look out for you."
Harry's face split into a broad grin. "I will, Nell. Thanks."
