Chapter 23
The air hung thick with unease in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a place usually alive with the chatter of Aurors and the clatter of paperwork. However, today was different. Albus Dumbledore, the venerable headmaster of Hogwarts, stood in the dimly lit office of Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, his presence radiating more than the usual calm under pressure. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon them both.
“Alistair, let’s not waste time,” Dumbledore began, his vibrant blue eyes locking onto Moody's weary gaze. “The situation has spiraled beyond mere whispers in the Daily Prophet. We must act decisively.”
Moody snorted, adjusting his magical eye that whirled and clicked, taking in every detail of the room. “Aye, Dumbledore. I’ve seen the headlines. 'Madame Lestrange: The New Queen of Darkness'—bloody ridiculous! But doesn't change the fact that she had Sirius and James at that blasted wedding just to make a point. Those fools knew better!”
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully as he settled into a chair, the weight of what had been done anchoring his heart. “Tell me, Alistair, how are they faring?”
“Not well, I fear,” Moody replied, a trace of fury igniting in his voice. “Sirius and James haven’t woken since they were attacked. The cuts Madame Lestrange left…they're permanent. This woman is a beast!”
“While I share your anger, there are more troubling nuances at play here,” Dumbledore replied, his tone steady. “Have you considered that Madame Petunia Noel Lestrange might have fallen under the Imperius Curse?”
Moody leaned forward, skepticism dancing in his eye. “A Muggle woman? Under a curse? And she’s tangled up with Rabastan Lestrange? You’re telling me there’s hope for her?”
“There’s no telling what influence her marriage to a member of the Lestrange family has had on her,” Dumbledore explained, pouring himself some tea. “Cornelius Fudge, in his shortsightedness and desperation to keep the Lestranges out of Azkaban, might have struck a deal that could prove disastrous for our world.”
“Right,” Moody retorted, fists clenching under the table. “But even if she was forced into it, why would she agree to marry into that wretched family in the first place?”
“That’s the mystery,” Dumbledore sighed, resting his chin on his fingers, deep in thought. “It could be a quest for power, or it could be a misguided act of loyalty. Regardless, we must act to ensure the safety of our friends and this world.”
Moody paced his small office, scowling at the walls adorned with trophies from his Auror days. “And what if she refuses to leave? What then?”
Dumbledore’s expression hardened. “Then I will treat her as an enemy—to protect our people, I will utilize every resource at my disposal to put an end to her reign of terror.”
Grim determination settled over Moody as he nodded. “Very well, I’m in. I won’t let this pass without a fight. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
Before he could take another step, Moody raised his voice, calling out, “Longbottom!”
Frank Longbottom appeared at the door, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. “Yes, sir, Headmaster Dumbledore?”
“We need you to prepare for a visit to Lestrange Manor,” Dumbledore said, standing up, his robe flowing gracefully as he did. “It’s imperative that we extract Madame Lestrange from her current predicament.”
Frank eyed Dumbledore and Moody, sensing the tension crackling in the air. “Understood, sir. I’ll gather the necessary equipment.”
As Longbottom rushed away, Dumbledore and Moody exchanged a glance, both understanding the gravity of what lay ahead. This would not be an easy journey; the Lestranges were steeped in darkness, and one misstep could lead to dire consequences.
“Let us hope that the shadows do not claim her entirely,” Dumbledore murmured, his gaze drifting toward the enchanted window that overlooked the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.
Moody grunted in agreement. “If she's in there and can't be reasoned with, we might have to take more drastic measures than tea and pleasantries.”
As they prepared to leave, Dumbledore wrestled with a tempest of thoughts. He felt an insidious whisper creeping into his mind, drawing him deeper into the darkness he had consistently fought against. Just you wait, Petunia. When I get my hands on you, I will make you experience the same humiliation that you have made me endure. No one will save you from me.
The three men stepped out of the office, resolute and unified in their purpose, even as Dumbledore’s heart ached with conflicting emotions. They would confront the darkness—not just in Lestrange Manor, but within themselves and the very fabric of their world. As they prepared to face whatever awaited them, dread and determination whispered in the air, destined to clash against the current of fate.
Dumbledore was calm, but deep down, a tempest brewed. Despite the serene beauty of the garden, varying shades of life and magical flora adorned the paths, he felt an unsettling familiarity; a corruption woven into the fabric of this place.
Rianhaert Lestrange awaited them at the garden, arms crossed, a glimmer of arrogance lighting up his features. "Speak of the great wizard and he shall appear," he sneered, a mocking lilt to his voice.
Little did they know, the battle for Petunia Lestrange’s soul was just the beginning of a far greater struggle that would define the precarious balance between light and dark in the wizarding world.