The Ashes of the Dark
In a dimly lit chamber deep within the bowels of the Lestrange Manor, silence loomed heavily over the shadowy figures gathered around the ornate table. The flickering flames from the torches threw sinister shadows against the walls, creating a surreal aura of dread. Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of the table, his normally polished demeanor cracked under the weight of disbelief and uncertainty. After the sudden death of their dark lord Voldemort in a car accident—a twisted twist of fate that even magic couldn’t foresee—confusion and fear danced in the air like smoke from extinguished candles.
Bellatrix Lestrange, her wild hair framing a face contorted in mania, slammed her fist on the table. “We need to find him! He could be anywhere! He can’t be dead!” Her voice was a frantic crescendo, echoing through the walls.
Lucius arched a brow, rolling up his sleeve to reveal vacant skin where the Dark Mark once burned brightly, indicating loyalty to the wizard who had promised them supremacy. “Then enlighten me, Bellatrix. How do you explain the disappearance of our lord?” His tone was icy, his usual confidence bordering on desperation.
Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix’s husband, shifted uncomfortably, his anxiety mirrored in his brother Rabastan’s eyes. “Bloody hell! With the Dark Lord gone, there will be hunters coming after us.” The room fell into a tense silence, each member processing the implications of their leader’s demise.
Severus Snape's voice cut through the quiet, a dark whisper draped in sarcasm. “With Voldemort gone, the Ministry will be alerted very soon. They will break into our homes, searching for any leads on us.” His expression was one of derision, eyes narrowed as he considered their grim prospects.
Rabastan leaned forward, a touch of nervousness creeping into his steel façade. “We won’t be able to find the Dark Lord. The only thing left for us to do is hide our tracks.” He cast a pointed gaze at Severus. “If I’m not mistaken, Potter and Black will go after you first, Severus.”
Evan Rosier added, “Rabastan is right. We need to cover our traces first, before we mingle back with society. We cannot let Dumbledore catch us.” A chorus of murmurs and nods followed his statement, an unspoken agreement resonating amongst the former Death Eaters.
With grim determination, the ex-Death Eaters stood from the table, their minds racing with ways to erase the evidence of their allegiance to Voldemort. Yet, in the Lestrange Manor, amidst the flickering flames of their desperation, Reinhard Lestrange observed his families' frantic attempts to destroy everything that connected them to their dark past. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of burning parchment, his heart heavy with disenchantment and regret.
Meanwhile, in the Lestrange Manor, Reinhard Lestrange watched his sons and daughter-in-law methodically burn every piece of memorabilia that connected them to their fallen leader. “How did it come to this?” he lamented, wringing his hands before the flames. “My family now fears for their lives because of those mudblood supporters!”
“Quickly! Burn it all!” Bellatrix screamed, tossing the remnants of their dark past into the fire. Rodolphus and Rabastan hurried to comply, sweat beading on their foreheads, fear settling in the pit of their stomachs.
Suddenly, the serenity of their vigil was shattered when the door burst open. “Aurors! Everyone stay where you are!” The guttural, authoritative voice of Mad-Eye Moody filled the room, tainted by years of hardened resolve and righteous indignation.
“Arrest them all!” he commanded, eyes flicking across the surprised faces of the family.
“What is the meaning of this, Moody?” Rabastan shouted, annoyance flashing across his face. “We have done nothing illegal!”
Moody approached with a grin, like a wolf closing in on the straggling sheep. “Oh, really? Tell me, what about the mark?”
He grabbed Rabastan's wrist, ready to force compliance. But to everyone’s shock, he found nothing where darkness once thrived.
Rabastan raised his sleeve, a defiant smirk plastered across his pallid face. “Look closer.” Indeed, the Dark Mark was gone, leaving nothing but a whisper of its former presence.
His confidence ignited a shared grin among the Lestranges, yet it was short-lived; an Auror’s shout interrupted their moment of triumph. “Sir! We found a cursed object!” The Auror brandished an ominous trinket, its potential for ensnaring the unwary evident in the glint of its malevolent craftsmanship.
With shackles clinking, the entire family was dragged away, defiance still dancing in their eyes. Reinhard chuckled, his voice echoing through the cells of the temporary prison they’d been shoved into. “You’re a fool, Moody, if you think you can send us to Azkaban over a cursed object.”
“Oh, mark my words, Lord Lestrange,” Moody snarled, fury momentarily eclipsing his steely demeanor. “It’s the Ministry that will decide your fate.”
The rest of the family erupted into laughter, their spirits unbroken philosophy unyielding
“Then allow us to entertain ourselves during our stay,” Rabastan cackled, tauntingly addressing one of the Aurors. “When we get out of here, we’ll ensure you’ll remember our names for the rest of your days.”
Cornelius Fudge soon made his way to the temporary holding space, visibly seething. “You are the real fools if you think you can get away with it,” he spat, loathing encapsulated in his gaze.
Their laughter filled the prison, echoing off the cold stone walls. As Cornelius Fudge arrived, irked by the arrest of the notorious clan, Reinhard leaned closer to the bars of his cell, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, Mr. Fudge. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Fudge’s body tensed as he stepped nearer, words dripping with contempt. “Mark my words, Lord Lestrange; I will make you pay for everything you’ve done to the wizarding world… and what you’ve done to me.”
“Would love to see you try, Fudge,” Reinhard replied with a dismissive wave. Laughter erupted among the shackled family, a sweet, illicit joy that echoed in the dark and oppressive space, ringing of audacity and unrepentant pride.
As Fudge stormed off, their laughter melded with the shadows of the prison, resonating with the defiance of those who had been accustomed to power and fear. They knew the storm was far from over. The ashes of the Dark Lord were still warm, and in this cold night of uncertainty, the Lestrange family vowed one thing—they would rise again.