The Pact

I face the Death Eaters, placing the tip of my wand against my throat to amplify my voice.

“Tonight, I’ve been given the honor and the privilege of leading the strike against the Ministry of Magic. I’ve been entrusted with command, and with that, we need to go over the plan.”

Stall, stall, stall.

Bellatrix sneers. “Plan? We don’t need a plan. We’re just going to walk in and kill anyone who gets in our way.”

I force a smile, my grip tightening around my wand. “Of course, Bellatrix, but we must be strategic. The Dark Lord expects nothing less than absolute efficiency.” I glance at Voldemort from the corner of my eye. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze presses down on me like a curse waiting to be cast.

“We will divide into teams,” I continue, pretending to consult the parchment in my hand. There is no parchment. There is no plan—only stolen time. “Each group will be assigned a specific sector of the Ministry to infiltrate. We must disable their defenses first—Anti-Apparition wards, communication lines, Auror barricades—before we move in for the final strike.”

Bellatrix huffs, tapping her wand against her palm impatiently. “You’re stalling, girl. Just say the word, and we’ll slaughter them all.”

I force myself to exhale slowly. “And if we rush in without clearing the path, we risk allowing reinforcements to arrive. If we do this correctly, the Ministry will fall within the hour, and the Dark Lord’s victory will be absolute.”

A murmur ripples through the group. They like the sound of absolute.

Voldemort tilts his head ever so slightly. “And tell me, Lavigné,” he says, his voice a whisper that somehow cuts through the air like a blade, “what exactly do you propose?”

Every eye is on me. My pulse hammers against my ribs.

I lift my chin. “I propose a calculated attack, my Lord. Let me lead the first wave inside. If we eliminate the emergency responders and internal security before they can react, the Ministry’s collapse is inevitable.”

It’s a gamble. If he says yes, I can control how the attack unfolds. If he sees through me—

Voldemort studies me for a moment, then nods. “Very well. Lead the first wave.”

I swallow, keeping my face impassive. The game has changed. Now, I just have to make sure the first wave never reaches its destination.

“Yes, my lord. Lestrange, Malfoy, Carrow, Dolohov, you’re with me. Anyone from here—” I draw an invisible line with my arm, sectioning off a portion of the Death Eaters—“over, you’re with me as well. The rest of you—wait for the signal that we’ve disabled the wards and brought down the defenses. Then you join us.”

A murmuring ripple runs through the group as they shift into their new formations. Some look eager, others impatient, but I don’t miss the skeptical glances exchanged between the more seasoned Death Eaters. They’re waiting for something—waiting for me to slip up, waiting for the moment this plan either solidifies or crumbles.

Lucius Malfoy steps forward, straightening his spine despite the lingering stiffness in his movements. The effects of Voldemort’s earlier Cruciatus curse still weigh on him, but his face is impassive. Controlled.

His grey eyes meet mine, steady and unreadable. But something flickers beneath the surface—understanding. He knows. He knows I have a plan.

Bellatrix scoffs. “Lucius, dear, don’t you think you should sit this one out? You’re still looking rather—” she waves a hand vaguely at him, smirking, “—shaken.”

Lucius barely acknowledges her, his gaze still locked on me. “I can stand.” He pauses, voice deliberate. “And I would prefer to oversee the strategy firsthand. Efficiency is key, after all.”

The words are a mirror of what I’d told Voldemort. A silent message.

I nod, looking at Bellatrix. “He’s with us for a reason. After all, he’s the one who taught me how to kill. Really, he’s invaluable.”

Bellatrix rolls her eyes, but I press on. “Malfoy. You’re staying behind us. Lestrange, Carrow and myself will take the front. I’ll dismantle the wards while they’re on watch. Then you, Dolohov and the masses of the first wave will come in so we can take down the guards inside before the rest of our army storms the entire building.”

Lucius inclines his head slightly in understanding. We both know I’ve just placed him in a position where he won’t be forced to act first—where he’ll have room to react when things start going sideways.

I glance at Voldemort one last time. He watches, unmoving, his expression a twisted blend of patience and amusement.

He knows something, but he’s letting me play my little game—for now.

I turn back to my group. “First wave, with me.”

I exhale slowly, stealing one final moment before everything shatters. Then, I twist on the spot, dragging Carrow, Bellatrix, and the others with me into the storm. Lucius and Dolohov follow closely behind, their boots crunching on the ground.

Think. Think. Think.

How can I screw this advance up—and make it look like an accident? Not only an accident, but make it look like someone else’s fault?

I settle on Carrow as my scapegoat. He was responsible for bringing Voldemort Dumbledore’s wand, and he failed. If he messes something else up?

Well, that wouldn’t be entirely surprising, would it?

The moment my boots hit the ground, the night air crackling with residual magic, I know I have seconds to act. The Ministry looms ahead, dark and foreboding, its wards humming with power. I tighten my grip on my wand, glancing at Bellatrix and Carrow as they steady themselves beside me. Lucius and Dolohov appear a beat later, their expressions taut with tension.

I exhale, raising my chin. “Carrow, keep watch while I dismantle the wards,” I order sharply. “Bellatrix, back me up.”

Carrow grunts, adjusting his stance. His fingers twitch around his wand, eager for violence. Good. That impatience will work against him soon enough.

I turn my attention to the shimmering layer of enchantments wrapped around the Ministry’s perimeter. I pretend to study them, making a show of tracing my wand through the air as if calculating the best approach. In truth, I’m not unraveling the wards. Not yet.

Instead, my free hand flicks ever so slightly behind my back. No wand. No incantation. Just raw, precise intent.

A subtle jinx slips from my fingertips and wraps itself around Carrow like an invisible snake. It’s not strong—not yet—but it coils inside his nerves, waiting. One misstep, one spike of adrenaline, and it will twist his reflexes just enough to make him fumble.

I glance over my shoulder. “Stay alert,” I warn, my voice low, commanding. “If the Ministry has countermeasures in place, we’ll need to react fast.”

Carrow scoffs. “You don’t need to tell me twice, girl.”

Perfect.

I shift my attention back to the wards and raise my wand, pretending to weave through the protective enchantments. Slowly, deliberately, I cast harmless counter-charms—nothing that actually dismantles the Ministry’s defenses, just enough to make it look like I’m working.

Then, I wait.

The tension in the air thickens. Bellatrix taps her foot impatiently, eyes flicking toward the Ministry’s entrance. Lucius remains still, unreadable. Carrow, growing restless, adjusts his grip on his wand—just as the jinx I planted takes hold.

His fingers slip.

His wand jerks at the wrong angle.

A bolt of crackling green light explodes from the tip, shooting wildly toward the Ministry’s wards. The moment it makes contact, the entire enchantment flares to life, pulsing like a struck nerve. A deafening boom shakes the ground as the wards react violently, sending a cascade of sparks through the air.

For half a second, there is silence.

Then—alarms.

Shrill, wailing sirens pierce the night as the Ministry’s defenses lock into place, sealing every entrance, strengthening their barriers instead of weakening them.

Carrow stumbles back, his face twisted in panic. “What—? I didn’t—!”

Bellatrix spins on him, eyes blazing. “You idiot!” she screeches.

I allow myself a carefully calculated frown, tilting my head as if observing a failed experiment. “Carrow. What did you do? That wasn’t meant to happen.”

Lucius steps forward, his expression perfectly blank. “No. It wasn’t.” His voice is quiet, dangerous.

Carrow’s face pales. “It—it was a misfire! The wards must have reacted—”

Bellatrix doesn’t let him finish. “The only thing the wards reacted to was your incompetence!” she hisses, raising her wand as if she might curse him where he stands. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

Inside the Ministry, shadows move. Figures—Aurors—rushing to respond to the triggered alarms. The element of surprise is gone. Reinforcements will arrive soon.

Voldemort will hear of this.

Carrow swallows hard, looking between us, wild-eyed. “I—I can fix it, I swear—”

I step closer, lowering my voice just enough that only he can hear. “You just cost the Dark Lord his perfect ambush,” I murmur, letting my words sink in. “You better pray he’s in a forgiving mood.”

Carrow’s face goes ghostly white.

Behind me, Lucius shifts, just enough for our eyes to meet. He knows. He knows exactly what I just did.

And he doesn’t stop me.

I turn back to the Ministry’s flashing wards, feigning frustration as if assessing the damage. But inside, my pulse steadies.

I’ve bought some time, but only a minute.

Bellatrix immediately gives in to her own desires, raising her wand. “Hurry up, girl. Those aurors are coming out here, and we’re going to kill every last one of them.”

Knowing the only way to protect those aurors is to to get inside, to get Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters away—I actually take down the wards with a flick of my hand. “Done. Let’s go.”

For just a moment, Bellatrix looks almost disappointed that she doesn’t get to kill the dozen wizards who are surely going to be out here any moment—but she obeys nonetheless. “Finally.”

I raise my wand, knowing damn well I don’t need it, apparating into the building with a sharp crack. I land in the shadowy, empty atrium, looking around and assessing my options before Bellatrix lands just beside me, a wicked grin on her lips.

Her eyes gleam with the promise of violence. “Which way, little leader?” she purrs, her voice dripping with mockery.

I force a steady breath, my mind racing. “We need to secure the central command center first. It’s down this corridor.” I gesture toward a hallway to the left, the one leading away from the Ministry’s critical infrastructure.

Bellatrix narrows her eyes but nods. “Fine. But if I find out you’re leading us astray—” She trails off, the threat clear.

The other Death Eaters apparate in behind us, their wands drawn, eyes sharp. Lucius appears last, his expression carefully controlled. His gaze meets mine briefly, a silent question: What now?

I spin on my heel, leading them down the darkened corridor. With every step, I send out quiet, wandless charms—doors sealing behind us, invisible barriers springing up, detours manifesting in the architecture of the Ministry itself. Every twist and turn takes us farther from the true heart of the building, deeper into the labyrinth.

Carrow stumbles along, his nerves frayed. The jinx I planted on him still simmers beneath his skin, ready to strike again if needed. He casts suspicious glances over his shoulder, his paranoia a smokescreen for my deception.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Dolohov asks, his voice a low rumble.

I nod confidently. “The command center is hidden. The Ministry uses enchantments to deter intruders. We have to push through.”

Bellatrix grins. “Then let’s make some noise.” She fires a blasting curse at a door, and it shatters inward, revealing nothing but an empty office.

“Where is it?” she snaps, her head whipping toward me.

“Ministry trickery,” I say smoothly. “They must have shifted the floor plan. We’ll need to adjust.” I reach out, my fingers brushing the air, and with a subtle twist of magic, the next door ahead seems to shimmer and distort.

“There,” I say. “Through that door.”

Bellatrix doesn’t hesitate. She marches forward, shoving Carrow aside, and slashes her wand through the air to break through the ward I just conjured. It snaps under her force, and she steps through—only to find herself in a maintenance closet.

The rest of the Death Eaters halt, confusion rippling through their ranks. Bellatrix turns slowly, her lips curling back over her teeth. “What game are you playing, girl?”

I widen my eyes, projecting innocence. “It must be more of the Ministry’s defenses. We need to find another way.”

Dolohov mutters a curse under his breath, and Lucius takes a half step forward, his voice smooth. “Perhaps we should split up. Cover more ground.”

“No,” I say, too quickly. I wave a hand dismissively. “If we split up, we could trigger more traps. We need to stay together.”

Bellatrix’s wand snaps up, the tip pointed at my chest. “You’re lying.”

My heart clenches, but I don’t let it show. “If you think you can do better, by all means.” I take a step back, gesturing grandly down the corridor. “Lead the way.”

She hesitates, the shadows of doubt creeping into her expression. She doesn’t want to admit she has no idea where she’s going. Her pride is a weapon—one I can use.

Lucius takes advantage of the silence. “The Dark Lord chose her to lead for a reason. Perhaps we should give her the chance to prove herself.”

Bellatrix snarls, but lowers her wand. “One more chance, Lavigné. But if this path leads to another dead end—”

I sigh sharply. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lestrange. Do I look like I work at the bloody ministry? I’m going off of floor plans here.”

Bellatrix’s eyes narrow, her lips curling into a sneer. “Watch your tone, girl. Just because the Dark Lord put you in charge doesn’t mean you’re untouchable.”

I bite back a laugh, a sharp, derisive sound. “Actually, it kind of does. I can’t imagine the dark lord would be happy if his new toy went missing.”

Her nostrils flare. “You think that he’ll let you get by with your incompetence forever?”

“Forever?” I drawl, leading the group down another twisting corridor. “No. But certainly long enough to get through this little excursion.”

Dolohov, trailing just behind Bellatrix, mutters under his breath. His wand is drawn but loose in his hand. “Both of you, shut it. We need to focus.”

Bellatrix whirls on him, her black curls wild around her face. “You dare—”

“Enough,” I snap, my voice cracking like a whip. “If you’re done arguing like children, we have a job to do.”

Bellatrix’s wand twitches, and for a brief, delicious moment, I almost hope she tries something. The thought of watching her curse backfire, of seeing that smug expression shatter—it’s almost worth pushing her further.

Instead, I sigh, turning my back on her and continuing down the hall. “You know, Bellatrix, if you’re so eager to kill someone, why don’t you go on ahead? Surely, a witch of your talents doesn’t need a guide.”

Her footsteps echo behind me, sharp and deliberate. “Careful, Lavigné. I’ve broken stronger witches than you.”

I hum, unconcerned. “I’m sure you have.”

Lucius, ever the peacemaker, speaks up from the back of the group. “We’re wasting time. If the Ministry truly has shifted its layout, then we need to find the control room. Perhaps we could—”

“Perhaps we could shut up and let me lead,” I interrupt, my patience wearing thin. “Or are you all suddenly Ministry experts? Should I be taking notes?”

Silence. The Death Eaters exchange wary glances. Even Bellatrix hesitates, her wand lowering slightly.

I push forward, rounding a corner and sending a wandless charm skittering ahead of us. Another temporary ward springs up, subtly redirecting us away from the main atrium. I feel the ripple of magic like a brush of cold air against my skin, but none of them notice.

Bellatrix mutters something under her breath, but I ignore her. Each step feels like a victory, every delay a lifeline.

Finally, she can’t help herself. “You know, if you’re so clever, why hasn’t the Ministry fallen yet? We should be knee-deep in blood by now.”

I don’t bother looking back. “Maybe if you stopped talking and started listening, we would be.”

Her magic flares behind me, a pulse of heat, but I just smile. I can almost feel Draco’s pendant hum, a protective barrier that she can’t breach, no matter how much she wants to.

She opens a door to the left, revealing a long, winding corridor. “This way,” she hisses, grinning. “Looks familiar.”

“If you say so,” I reply with a shrug, leading the rest of the group in behind her.

When I’m sure every last one of us is inside, I turn my wrist ever so subtly at my waist, making the door slam shut and the hall go completely black.

“What the hell?” I ask, feigning surprise. “Bellatrix, where did you lead us?”

The darkness is absolute. I can hear their breathing—quick, sharp inhales as wands ignite with pale, trembling light. Bellatrix’s face glows sickly in the dimness, her grin faltering as shadows crawl over the stone walls.

“I—this was the way,” she snaps, her voice wavering just enough to betray her. “I know it was.”

Lucius draws his wand, the tip flaring with a soft lumos. His expression is a mask of calm, but his eyes dart over the walls, searching for any sign of an exit. “We need to keep moving. Standing still is a mistake.”

“Oh, brilliant,” I say, layering my voice with thinly veiled panic. “Move where, exactly? I can’t see a bloody thing.”

Dolohov shoves past me, his wand casting elongated shadows. “There has to be another door. Or at least a window.”

Bellatrix’s patience shatters. “Quiet!” she shrieks, her voice echoing off the stone. “The Ministry must have set a trap. Stand back.”

She raises her wand, magic crackling at her fingertips, but I flick my wrist again, wrapping the walls in a temporary ward. Her spell rebounds with a hiss, the light fizzling out as if swallowed by the dark.

“What did you do?” Carrow demands, his voice tight with fear. “Bellatrix—fix it!”

She glares, but there’s a tremor in her hands. “Something is interfering. This place—it’s not right.”

I bite my lip, feigning anxiety. “We’re stuck, aren’t we?”

Bellatrix turns on me, wand raised. “If you hadn’t been stalling—”

“Stalling?” I interrupt, my voice rising. “You’re the one who led us into this dead end! What kind of ‘familiar’ hallway is this, Bellatrix?”

Her face contorts with rage, but I push forward, words sharp and relentless. “If you hadn’t been so desperate to play leader, maybe we’d be in the heart by now. Maybe the Ministry would already be ours!”

The other Death Eaters shift uneasily, caught between her fury and my logic.

Lucius steps into the fray, his voice smooth, diplomatic. “Arguing won’t help. We need a plan.”

“Oh, I have a plan,” Bellatrix snarls. “Find a way out, kill the aurors, and drag Lavigné back to the Dark Lord on a leash.”

I laugh, the sound too sharp, too loud in the dark. “Good luck with that. If you want to explain to the Dark Lord why this mission failed because of you—be my guest.”

Her wand snaps up, but the pendant hums, a soft, protective warmth against my skin. Her magic can’t reach me—but she doesn’t know it. Nobody does. The final ace up my sleeve.

“Honestly, Lestrange. Go on and hex me since you want to so badly. Maybe then we can make some damn progress, hm?”

I hold my own wand up, chin lifted arrogantly, showing no fear. It throws her off.

She casts an enthusiastic crucio, and I block it easily. At least, she thinks I do. Realistically, the shield from the bond activates—but I wave my wand like I’m using it.

Bellatrix freezes, looking stunned, and I know I’ve won this round.

“Enough of that,” I say, turning away from her. “Let’s find a way out. And if you lead us into another trap, Bellatrix—I won’t be the one explaining it to the Dark Lord.”

Silence. She doesn’t argue.

And as I take the lead once more, I twist my hand subtly, setting another ward in place. One more detour. One more delay.

Because as long as they’re following me, we’re not getting anywhere.

We press on through the labyrinthine corridors, my every step a deliberate misdirection. I conjure subtle wards and illusions, twisting the Ministry’s pathways until even the most seasoned Death Eaters are lost. Bellatrix seethes behind me, her anger a palpable heat, but she says nothing, too wary of my unexpected display of power.

Lucius keeps close, his expression unreadable, but I catch the faintest hint of a smirk whenever Bellatrix stumbles or mutters under her breath. He knows what I’m doing—and he’s letting me do it.

Finally, the corridor opens into a cavernous room, the air thick with ancient magic. Shelves stretch into the darkness, lined with hundreds—no, thousands—of glass orbs. Each one pulses with a soft, eerie glow, casting fractured light across the stone floor.

The Hall of Prophecies.

Bellatrix’s eyes widen, and for the first time, her rage gives way to something like fear. “No… This isn’t the heart of the Ministry. What are you playing at, Lavigné?”

I raise my wand, the light at its tip flickering ominously. “Playing? You think I brought us here on purpose?” I inject just enough confusion into my voice to mask my satisfaction. “You’ve been leading us just as much as I have.”

Dolohov and Carrow exchange uneasy glances. The orbs hum softly, whispers curling through the air like smoke. Prophecies. Secrets.

Lucius steps forward, his wand illuminating the nearest shelf. “If the Ministry wanted us lost, this is exactly where they’d lead us. These prophecies are protected—cursed, even. One wrong move, and we’ll trigger every ward in this place.”

Bellatrix spins on him, eyes wild. “Then why are we standing here? We need to get out—before the aurors find us.”

“Maybe we should take one,” I muse, running a finger over the glass surface of a prophecy. It shivers under my touch. “Imagine what the Dark Lord would do with a glimpse of the future.”

Her face twists, torn between greed and caution. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

I offer her a lazy smile. “Maybe not. But if you’d like to try your luck—go ahead. Grab one.”

Her fingers tighten around her wand, knuckles white. She’s not stupid. She knows as well as I do that only the subject of a prophecy can safely retrieve it. But if she hesitates, she looks weak. And weakness, among Death Eaters, is deadly.

The room presses in around us, the silence heavy and expectant. I can almost hear the pendulum swinging, the slow grind of the clock ticking down.

Then, distantly—footsteps. The aurors are coming.

Bellatrix’s head snaps toward the sound, and I let a flicker of genuine relief slip into my expression. “Looks like the Ministry found us after all. Shall we greet them?”

Lucius raises his wand, his voice a low murmur. “We need to move. Now.”

Bellatrix hesitates, then whirls on her heel, pushing past the others. “This way!”

She doesn’t realize I’ve placed another ward on the door she’s heading for—one that will loop us right back to this room if she tries to flee.

As we follow her, I take a breath, the pendant warm against my skin. My game is dangerous, the threads of my deception stretched taut.

But if I can keep us here, tangled in the Ministry’s guts, I might just save every life above us.

And if Bellatrix keeps leading, if she keeps making the wrong choices…

Well, that’s not my fault, is it?

Just as I intended, the door loops us back around into the room. Albeit from a different side—but still the Hall of Prophecies.

Bellatrix, utterly fed up, throws her arms in the air. “Is every door in this cursed building hexed?”

Before any of us can respond, a low voice rings out, loud and clear. “Freeze where you are! You’re under arrest for breaking and entering into the Ministry of Magic!”

Aurors flood into the room, wands raised, their robes dark silhouettes against the eerie glow of the prophecies. Their leader steps forward, a tall woman with piercing blue eyes and a stern expression. Her wand is steady, the tip sparking with raw magic.

Bellatrix reacts instantly, sending a bolt of green light hurtling toward her. I raise my own wand, muttering an incantation under my breath—one of my own design. The spell curves the killing curse off-course, making it crash harmlessly against a stone column.

The Death Eaters explode into motion, spells flying, light and sound ricocheting off the walls. I dive into the fray, aiming blasts of violet energy that look dangerous but only push the aurors back, cushioning their falls or trapping them in shimmering bubbles of protection.

“Stupefy!” I shout, sending a crimson bolt toward an auror. It hits him square in the chest, and he collapses—only to vanish in a swirl of purple mist, my hidden apparition spell whisking him to safety.

Amid the chaos, Bellatrix’s laughter rises, wild and sharp. She’s dueling two aurors at once, her movements fluid and vicious. “Pathetic! Is this all the Ministry can muster?”

Lucius is more controlled, his spells precise. I match his pace, mirroring his attacks with my own, each hex a covert rescue mission. When he sends a blasting curse at a young auror, I counter it with a “Protego!” that shimmers with just enough force to look authentic.

An auror charges me, his face hard with determination. “Expelliarmus!” I cry, and his wand flies from his hand. I snap my wrist, and the air shimmers—he’s gone, apparated to the atrium where I know emergency wards are set up.

Dolohov almost notices, a sliver of suspicion in his eyes. “You’re not hitting them hard enough, Lavigné!”

I sneer at him, my expression icy. “And you’re not hitting them at all, old man.”

He snarls, turning back to his own duel. I take the opportunity to cast another subtle charm, sending an auror sliding out of harm’s way just as a curse from Bellatrix scorches the air where he’d been standing.

The room fills with smoke and shadows, spells casting strange silhouettes on the walls. I move through it all, a ghost among the chaos, each step calculated, each spell a hidden mercy.

Then, the air shivers with new magic. Reinforcements. More aurors pouring in, their numbers bolstered by fresh faces. I allow a small, triumphant smile.

“Retreat!” Lucius shouts, his voice cutting through the noise. “We need to regroup!”

Bellatrix rounds on him, fury blazing in her eyes. “We can’t! The Dark Lord—”

“Will kill us if we die here!” he snaps back.

The Death Eaters falter, caught between pride and self-preservation. I take the opportunity, twisting my wand in a tight, controlled circle. The door behind us slams open, and I weave a subtle compulsion charm into the air, nudging them toward it.

“Go!” I bark. “I’ll cover you!”

Bellatrix hesitates, but the flood of aurors makes the decision for her. She ducks through the door, followed by Dolohov and the rest. Lucius is last, his pale eyes lingering on me for a moment, suspicion mingled with something like respect.

I hold his gaze and cast more harmless charms until he slips into the dark, then turn to face the aurors. I shove my wand into my hair, raising my hands. “Don’t shoot.”

The lead auror steps forward, her wand still aimed at my chest. “Identify yourself.”

I smile, the pendant warm against my skin. “It’ll make sense later, I swear!” I shout, bolting towards the door the other Death Eaters just went through. Defensive and offensive curses alike fire at me from behind as I make my escape, but they don’t hit me. They can’t.

With a twist of my wand, I make the door bust open and rush inside, before slamming it closed behind me and casting what looks like protective charms. The other Death Eaters are waiting, wands ready.

“That wont hold them for long,” I say quickly, feigning exasperation. “We have to get somewhere else, and fast.”

Bellatrix narrows her eyes, still seething. “You led us into a trap,” she hisses. “I knew it.”

I match her glare, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow. “If I had, we’d already be in chains. Or worse. Do you see any aurors coming through that door?” I flick my wand, adding another layer to the so-called barrier. “I just bought us time. Now, do you want to waste it blaming me, or do you want to get out of here?”

Dolohov grunts in agreement, his wand still pointed at the door. “She’s right. We need to move.”

Lucius paces, his robes billowing behind him, ever the picture of composed danger. “Where do we go, then? The Ministry is swarming with aurors.”

I feign thinking, my fingers tapping a rhythm against my wand. “All I can think of is to get back to the empty atrium to summon the rest of our forces. Power in numbers.”

“Why didn’t we do that in the first place?” Carrow shouts. “You wanted to split up! And look where it got us!”

Bellatrix laughs maniacally. “Because we’re being lead by a child!”

I cross my arms, standing my ground. “A child who just trapped all of the emergency aurors in one place, far away from our regroup point. You’re welcome.”

Bellatrix’s laughter cuts off abruptly, her face contorting with rage. “You dare take credit for this? You’ve led us in circles!”

I hold her gaze, unflinching. “I’ve kept us alive. Which is more than you can say.”

Lucius raises a hand, a silencing gesture that quells Bellatrix’s retort. “Enough. If the atrium is clear, then we move. Carrow, take point. Dolohov, watch our rear.”

We slip through the corridors, my wand subtly marking the path with invisible runes—false leads for the aurors, little breadcrumbs that would only misdirect them further. Every step toward the atrium tightens the knot in my chest. I’m running out of rope, and I need to make my final move count.

When we reach the grand, empty hall, the scale of the Ministry’s atrium is both a blessing and a curse. Its vastness swallows us, the glittering fireplaces lining the walls all dark and dormant. The golden fountain in the center is eerily still, the polished statues casting long, twisted shadows in the low light.

I wave my wand, sending a ripple of blue sparks through the air. “Go on, summon the others. The coast is clear.”

Bellatrix strides forward, her lips already shaping the spell to call for reinforcements. The others spread out, readying themselves, their wands raised and eyes sharp. Lucius stays close to me, his expression unreadable.

I feel his gaze, heavy and unyielding.

Bellatrix finishes the incantation, a pulse of dark magic rolling through the atrium. The fireplaces roar to life, green flames licking at the air as shadows flicker within them—reinforcements, their arrival imminent.

“Now we wait,” I say, taking a calculated step back, subtly positioning myself behind a column. My fingers tighten around my wand, every muscle coiled and ready.

Moments stretch into an eternity. The green flames surge, and dark shapes begin to materialize. Death Eaters, their masks reflecting the sickly light. But then—

A sharp crack echoes through the hall. And another. And another. Aurors, disillusioned and silent, apparating directly into the heart of the Death Eater ranks. I can see them now, their spells already in motion, silver and gold streaks slicing through the air.

“What—” Bellatrix’s voice rises, but it’s already too late. The atrium erupts into chaos.

I act immediately, my wand a blur as I cast spell after spell—not at the aurors, but at the Death Eaters. Harmless hexes, confusion charms, shields that deflect curses into walls and floors. I weave through the fray, every step a deliberate choice to keep the Death Eaters vulnerable, to create openings for the aurors. Only I point my wand at the aurors—my wandless magic is doing the work.

“Bellatrix, what the hell did you do?” I shout, backing myself in with a group of Death Eaters.

Bellatrix is a whirlwind of curses, her face a mask of pure fury. “What did I do? You lead us here!” She’s surrounded by aurors, but none can get close—her magic lashes out, wild and unfocused, but deadly all the same.

I take a breath, steadying my aim. I push some aurors back, wrapping them in protective magic. To the naked eye, it looks like they’re bound to the floor.

“This is why the Dark Lord entrusted me!” I yell over the sounds of curses cracking against the walls. “Because you’re a loose cannon!”

Her eyes narrow, a snake’s gaze before the strike. “You dare question my loyalty? My power?” She hurls a bolt of red light at me, wild and crackling. I twist my wand, a harmless shield flaring to life, deflecting the curse into a marble pillar. Stone chips explode into the air, and I stumble back, using the chaos to subtly redirect more aurors out of harm’s way.

Around us, the atrium has become a battlefield. Death Eaters pour through the green-flamed fireplaces in droves, their black robes like dark rivers spilling into the room. The air thickens with smoke and screams, spells ricocheting off the gilded walls. The golden fountain at the center shudders, a jet of water twisting into steam as a curse glances off its surface.

Lucius Malfoy, ever the strategist, rallies his followers, directing them into formations. “Form up! Take the left flank!” His voice is a whipcrack, and the Death Eaters obey, their movements sharp and disciplined. But I see the cracks—tiny moments where confusion reigns, where my subtle hexes have taken root.

I cast another spell, sending a green-cloaked auror flying backward. It’s a show, a distraction, as I twist my fingers behind my back, the invisible threads of my magic weaving a safety net around him. He lands softly, rolling into the shadows and out of sight.

Bellatrix, still at the heart of the chaos, is a hurricane of raw magic. Her curses are indiscriminate, tearing through friend and foe alike. An explosion rocks the far end of the atrium, flames licking up the walls, and the shimmering chandeliers overhead sway dangerously.

“This is madness!” I shout, pushing through the throng of Death Eaters. I let myself get caught in a binding spell, wrapping ropes of fire around my arms. I stumble, gasping, and let my wand clatter to the floor. “Bellatrix, call them off! We need to retreat!”

She laughs, a sound sharp enough to cut glass. “Retreat? Are you a coward, Lavigné? The Dark Lord does not suffer cowards!”

“I’m not a coward!” I throw myself forward, using the momentum to snap the enchanted ropes with a burst of wandless magic. The display draws eyes—suspicion, admiration, fear. I let them see it. Let them think I’m still on their side, still in control. “But I’m not an idiot, either! We’re being overwhelmed!”

Her lips curl back, a snarl. “If you fear death, then you are useless to us.”

“I fear nothing!” I bellow, and my voice cuts through the noise, a spell all its own. “But if you keep this up, you’ll kill us all. Is that your plan? To die here, surrounded by fools?”

Her magic recoils, a ripple of uncertainty passing through the Death Eaters around us. Lucius glances at her, his grip on his wand tightening. Others shift, their masks hiding doubt, but not erasing it.

“Bellatrix,” Lucius says, his voice low and dangerous. “The girl is right. We’ve lost the element of surprise. The Ministry will call reinforcements—real ones. We need to regroup.”

“No!” Bellatrix screams, and her magic flares, dark and terrible. “We are the Dark Lord’s chosen! We do not run!”

A fresh wave of aurors crashes into the room, their ranks bolstered by new arrivals. Their spells are sharp, coordinated—gold and silver light threading through the dark like a web. I seize the moment, casting a smoke charm that blooms into a thick, swirling fog. It’s chaos, and I use it to my advantage, slipping through the shadows, guiding aurors away from danger, turning Death Eaters toward each other.

The last wave of Death Eaters appears, having just apparated in from outside. They jump into action immediately, casting curses at the aurors surrounding the room.

The aurors are heavily outnumbered—by tenfold, even. Doubt settles in my stomach.

Just as I think the Death Eaters might overtake them, that “we” might win—I hear it.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“What the f—” Carrow starts, cut off by a wall crashing in.

“A bas les salauds!”

I whip around to look in the direction of the commotion.

The Conseil des Sorciers.

In all their glory, in the uniforms I’ve become so familiar with, my fellow council members and every auror from France are pouring into the room in droves, purple and blue curses crashing into the walls around me. Death Eaters are going down one by one, but the fight is far from over, and still far from even.

The atrium becomes a battlefield of colors—green, red, silver, blue—magic crisscrossing through the air in deadly arcs. The Conseil des Sorciers moves as a unit, disciplined and precise, their spells sharp and their aim truer than any I’ve seen. The French aurors weave through the chaos, their incantations fluid and rhythmic, turning the tide of the battle.

I catch sight of Brossier, his wand a blur as he deflects a killing curse back at its caster. Valmont is at his side, their magic intertwining, a practiced dance of offense and defense. My grandmother, Catherine, is a storm all her own—her silver hair a halo around her as she whips her wand in tight, controlled motions. Shields bloom in front of her allies, curses rebound off her barriers, and when a Death Eater lunges too close, she drops him with a single, merciless spell.

Picard and Roche are further ahead, leading a charge that slices through the Death Eater lines. Their voices rise above the din, calling commands in rapid French. Their aurors respond instantly, pushing forward, forcing the Death Eaters back toward the shattered remnants of the fountain.

I move through the chaos, slipping between duels, my wand flashing with harmless hexes. I create openings, subtle manipulations of the battlefield—aurors find cover where there was none, Death Eaters trip over invisible barriers, stray curses redirected into empty space.

A glimmer of hope sparks in my chest.

Draco did it. He got the message, got to Aurélien, and informed the council for me just in time.

I weave through the masses, avoiding attacks from both sides, unable to truly fight the Death Eaters without tipping them off.

Suddenly, I freeze.

I hear a familiar voice—no, voices. All too familiar voices ring out from across the room, sharp and clear.

“Protego!”

“Expelliarmus!”

“Rictusempra!”

When I look in the direction of the voices, I feel like the earth gives way beneath my feet.

No. No, no, no.

Pansy, Blaise, and Theo are here.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Aurélien are here.

And Draco? Draco’s here, too.