Chapter 17
The air in St. Mungo’s buzzed with a frantic energy that even the usual hushed tones couldn't mask. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, his magical eye whirring, stood rigid, his gnarled hand gripping his cane. The Petronas had been brief, stark, and delivered by a frantic Cornelius Fudge himself – James Potter and Sirius Black, both seasoned Aurors, were victims of a brutal attack. The irony of Fudge, the man who often seemed more concerned with bureaucratic red tape than actual law enforcement, looking genuinely shaken wasn't lost on Moody.
“What happened?” Moody’s voice was a low growl, directed at the healer who stood nervously before him, clutching a clipboard. The healer, a young, pale woman, flinched, her eyes wide.
“Officer Moody,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “Aurors Potter and Black sustained cuts, numerous cuts, across their bodies – arms, legs, face… everywhere. Small cuts, yes, but the real torture...” She paused, swallowed hard. “The real torture was that someone applied Polyjuice Potion to the wounds. The reaction… it's excruciating. Worse than any pain imaginable.”
Moody’s good eye narrowed, his jaw clenched. "Who did this to them? I need a name. We are going to catch whoever laid a finger on my Aurors.”
The healer hesitated, her gaze darting around the room. “I… I think you should speak to the Minister himself. He was a witness.”
Just minutes later, a gaggle of Aurors, looking as bewildered as they were alarmed, parted to reveal Cornelius Fudge, his face ashen and beaded with sweat. He wrung his hands, a picture of unease.
Moody’s gaze, like steel, settled on the Minister. “Alright, Minister, tell me what happened.”
Fudge stammered, attempting to regain his composure. “Today… today was supposed to be the wedding of Rabastan Lestrange and his… arranged… muggle wife, Petunia.” He spat the word "muggle" as if it were a curse, a tremor of fear in his voice.
Moody’s temper flared, a visible heat rising off him. “And why,” he roared, “were Potter and Black at this bloody wedding to begin with, huh?!”
A sudden pop echoed in the hallway, and then Lily Evans, her usually vibrant face pale with worry, burst into the room, followed closely by Remus Lupin and a panting Peter Pettigrew. She looked from one agitated figure to another, catching her breath. “What happened? What’s going on?”
The story unraveled, each detail more horrifying than the last, delivered with an undertone of disbelief. Lily listened, her brow furrowing with increasing skepticism.
“You expect me to believe a Muggle could do this?” she exclaimed, her voice sharp with outrage. “Torture advanced Aurors using Polyjuice? That’s ridiculous.”
Her voice was laced with disbelief and a touch of fury. "A muggle outmaneuvered two of the most powerful Aurors in the country and inflicted such a horrible act of cruelty? I won't.” she declared, her tone gaining confidence in her disbelief . “It doesn't make sense!"
Fudge, his face still pale, shook his head frantically. “It is the truth, Miss Evans. And it was my fault. I brought her here, arranged this marriage between her and that Death Eater lestrange.”
Remus, usually calm, was equally baffled. "How could a muggle even know about Polyjuice, much less understand how to use it in such a way?"
“We need to catch this Muggle,” Lily declared, her eyes flashing with anger, “she needs to pay for what she did.”
Fudge, with a sigh of resignation, shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Miss Evans.”
"And why not, Minister?" Lily pressed, her fury barely contained.
Fudge’s gaze turned to the floor. “Because... because Potter and Black attended the ceremony uninvited. The Dark families… they feel there needs to be a consequence for that. We can’t hold anyone responsible, especially not the Muggle, as the Lestrange clan has accepted her as one of them now.”
The room fell silent, the absurdity of Fudge’s words hanging heavy in the air. Lily stared, her eyes wide with disbelief, and then the anger returned, a cold, furious flame. She looked at the minister as if he has lost his mind
“So you’re saying,” Lily started, her voice dangerously low, “that because two Aurors tried to prevent something bad from happening, they’re being punished and she gets away with it?!”
Moody’s magical eye spun wildly. He barely contained his own rage at the injustice, the outright cowardice of the situation. He knew, with grim certainty, that this was more than just a political mess. This was a sign of rot, a cancer spreading through the Ministry, that was now daring to protect a dark power disguised as just a Muggle. The whole situation was outrageous.
The silence was broken by the sound of Moody’s cane hitting the floor, hard. The sound echoed through the tense room, a stark reminder of the simmering fury that, for the moment at least, was being held in check. He was going to make sure the responsible, Muggle or no, was going to pay for what she did to his Aurors. Fudge could hide and obfuscate it all he liked, but Moody was not one to let things go. Not now. Not ever.
Meanwhile, at Lestrange Manor, the aftermath of the wedding was a study in chaos. Rabastan Lestrange, his face a mask of disbelief, stared at his bride, sprawled unconscious on the floor, a half-empty bottle of wine clutched in her hand. Beside her lay the equally inebriated forms of Bellatrix and Lucius Malfoy.
"Bloody hell,” Rabastan muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. "How did this happen?"
Narcissa Malfoy, her face etched with thinly veiled disdain, looked at her unconscious husband. “Which part are you referring to? The fact that your wife has drunk herself into oblivion, or that she’s somehow become partners-in-crime with my unstable sister and my imbecile husband?”
Lucius, seemingly oblivious to his wife’s pointed comment, proclaimed to the room, “I, Lucius Malfoy, am now Petunia’s best friend! We have a very special bond!”
Rodolphus was staring at his father, Reinhard, who was unusually silent. "Father, you're awfully quiet. Surely a Muggle lying on the Lestrange Manor floor should be enough to make you throw a fit."
Narcissa turned her cool gaze on Reinhard. "Lord Lestrange, what do you think of your new daughter-in-law?"
Reinhard, his eyes sharp and calculating, finally spoke. "It seems that she will fit into the family just fine." He looked at his son, his voice carrying an edge that sent a chill down the spines of those present. “Rabastan, take your wife to the guest room, for now. By next week, you two will move to your new house in Billawa Village." He left the room, the weight of the unknown future surrounding this strange new addition to their family hanging heavy in the air.
Reinhard Lestrange was many things: loyal to the Dark Lord, a staunch pureblood supremacist but above all he was a master strategist. He had underestimated the Muggle, he admitted to himself, as the knowledge of how ruthlessly Petunia had tortured Potter and Black sunk in. He had a feeling his family, and the entire wizarding world, had a lot to learn about the new Mrs. Lestrange. And he had a nagging feeling that the Muggle was the one who was really starting to move the pieces on the board.