Chapter 26
The air in Dumbledore’s office crackled with suppressed fury, a stark contrast to the usual gentle hum of magical artifacts. Albus Dumbledore paced like a caged lion, his usually twinkling blue eyes burning with an uncharacteristic cold fire. Mad-Eye Moody, his magical eye whirring and fixed on an unseen threat, sat rigidly in a chair, his usual paranoia amplified tenfold. Frank Longbottom, pale and visibly trembling, sat beside him, his arm still marked by a faint, discolored band where Petunia Lestrange, nee Evans, had grabbed him.
“Preposterous!” Dumbledore finally exploded, his voice echoing off the portraits on the walls. “Utterly preposterous! A Muggle almost incapacitated the heir of the Longbottom line! And Reinhard Lestrange, Abarax Malfoy, Druella Black, Cygnus Black and their blasted children they simply watched! Enjoying the spectacle! Unbelievable!”
Moody grunted in agreement. “Some kinda sick joke this is, Albus. A Muggle model waltzes in, marries a pureblood git – even if Rabastan was pushed – and suddenly she’s running the show? Rabastan standing there, grinning like a bloody fool, while she manhandles young Frank? Something stinks to high heaven.” Moody’s magical eye spun, landing on Frank. “You alright, lad?”
Frank swallowed hard, running a hand over his forehead. “I… I think so, Mr. Moody. But… the look in her eyes. When she grabbed me. It was… ice cold. Like nothing I’ve ever felt. She wasn't bluffing, Professor. She was ready…” He shuddered, unable to finish the sentence.
“Ready to Silence you,” Dumbledore finished grimly. “Precisely. And the fact that the Dark families are rallying around her… this changes everything.” He stopped pacing and leaned heavily on his desk, his gaze distant and troubled. “We were so focused on Voldemort’s demise, on the ingrained prejudices of the old families… we completely overlooked this. A Muggle weaponized against us. It’s… ingenious, in a twisted sort of way.”
Moody snorted. “Ingenious and bloody dangerous. And don’t forget what she did to Potter and Black. They’re lucky to be breathing. This ain’t some simpering bride, Albus. This is a predator.” His magical eye narrowed. “And Evans, you say? Evans… rings a bell.”
Just then, the fireplace roared to life, spitting out emerald flames. Alice Fortescue stumbled out, her normally bright face etched with worry. She spotted Frank immediately and rushed to his side, dropping to her knees beside his chair. “Frank! What happened? Are you hurt?”
Frank managed a weak smile. “I’m alright, Alice. Just… a bit shaken.”
Alice turned, her eyes flashing between Dumbledore and Moody, sensing the tension in the room. “What’s going on? Tell me everything.”
Dumbledore sighed, running a hand through his long white beard. “Indeed, Alice. Have you seen the Daily Prophet?”
Alice shook her head, her brow furrowed. “No, I’ve been at Department of magical law enforcement all day. Rumors were flying about Rabastan Lestrange marrying a Muggle… but that’s all I heard.”
Dumbledore gestured to the newspaper lying on his desk, the headlines screaming in bold black letters: CHAOS IN MAGICAL BRITAIN! MINISTER ATTACKED BY THE MUGGLE BRIDE OF RABASTAN LESTRANGE! Alice’s eyes widened as she scanned the article, her hand flying to her mouth. The details were even more shocking than the headline: Minister Fudge humiliated and verbally assaulted, Sirius Black and James Potter magically restrained and… something hinted at, something worse.
Alice’s hands began to tremble. “Tortured? They’re saying she… tortured Sirius and James? And the Lestranges, the Blacks, the Malfoys… they allowed this? How? Why?” She looked at Dumbledore, her voice pleading for answers.
Dumbledore met her gaze, his expression grave. “I went to Lestrange Manor today, Alice. To assess the situation, to see if this… Madame Lestrange was being coerced, manipulated. I wanted to understand if she was a victim being used by these dark families.” He paused, his voice heavy with disillusionment. “I was wrong. She is not a victim. She… she reveled in it. She enjoyed the power. She is the threat.”
Moody grumbled, his magical eye swiveling again. “Evans… Evans… Wait a minute.” He snapped his fingers. “Her last name is Evans, right? Petunia Evans?”
Dumbledore nodded slowly. “Yes. Why?”
Moody’s gruff voice sharpened with a sudden realization. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Professor Dumbledore, but don’t we have another Evans? As in… Lily Evans?”
Frank’s eyes widened. “Lily! You’re right! Lily did mentioned a sister… but…” He trailed off, struggling to process this new information.
Alice’s face paled further. “Lily… Lily’s sister? Petunia?” She shook her head vehemently. “That’s impossible. Petunia… Petunia hated magic. She despised Lily, resented her for being a witch. Why on earth would she marry a Dark wizard like Rabastan Lestrange? And… and become this?” Her voice was filled with disbelief.
Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing the swirling questions. “Enough.” He fixed his gaze on Alice. “Alice, you know Lily well. Have you ever met her sister, Petunia?”
Alice nodded slowly. “Yes… a few times. When I visited Lily at home, before Hogwarts. Briefly.”
“And… looking at the photograph in the Prophet, at this Madame Lestrange…” Dumbledore hesitated. “Could you… could you identify her as Lily’s sister, Petunia?”
Alice stared at the image in the newspaper Dumbledore held out to her. The confident stance, the sharp, intelligent eyes, the coolly beautiful face framed by dark hair… She frowned, focusing intently. “ The hair is different, long blonde wavy hair… and she’s… undeniably beautiful. Petunia… Petunia was… plain. Certainly not this. But…” She chewed her lip, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “There’s something… in the bone structure, perhaps? The set of the eyes… It’s… vaguely familiar. It could be her. But… different. Very different.”
Alice’s brow furrowed as a new thought struck her. “Wait… Severus. Severus Snape. He grew up in Cokeworth, with Lily and Petunia. He would know. He could identify her.”
Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened. “Of course. Severus.” He nodded, turning to the phoenix perch beside his desk. “An excellent idea, Alice.” He penned a quick note on a piece of parchment and handed it to Fawkes, who promptly vanished in a burst of flame.
Meanwhile, in the dungeons, Severus Snape was indeed enjoying a rare moment of peace. He sat in his dimly lit office, a steaming mug of tea in hand, the Daily Prophet spread out before him. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he reread the account of the Minister’s humiliation. “Madame Lestrange,” he murmured, a hint of grudging admiration in his voice. “A most… unconventional bride. If only I hadn’t declined Lucius’s… enthusiastic invitation to the wedding. Such a spectacle I have missed.” He savored the thought of James Potter and Sirius Black, those arrogant Gryffindors, receiving a taste of true powerlessness.
Suddenly, a flash of crimson and gold illuminated his office as Fawkes materialized, dropping Dumbledore’s summons at his feet. Snape’s lip curled in a sneer. “What does the old fool want now? Just when I was finding a sliver of amusement in this dreary day.” He sighed dramatically, unfolding the parchment. “Summoned to the Headmaster’s office… no doubt another pointless lecture. Very well.”
He swept into Dumbledore’s office, his usual sour expression firmly in place. “Headmaster Dumbledore, you summoned me?” He took in the tense atmosphere, the pale faces of Frank and Alice, and Moody’s ever-vigilant gaze. “Something amiss?”
Dumbledore gestured to the newspaper on his desk. “Severus, do you recognize this woman?”
Snape glanced disdainfully at the photograph. “Madame Lestrange? Of course. Even a dungeon bat would recognize the whirlwind she has unleashed upon your precious Ministry.” He allowed a smirk to play on his lips. “I have been… thoroughly entertained by her exploits, I confess. Especially the… educational experience she provided to Messrs. Potter and Black. Perhaps Gryffindors are not quite as invincible as they believe.”
Dumbledore’s patience, already frayed, snapped. He slammed his hand on the desk, making Frank jump. “Enough, Severus! Are you still clinging to petty schoolboy grievances? James and Sirius have apologized, repeatedly. Let it go!”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, his face tightening. “Apologies mean nothing, Dumbledore. Scars remain.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain a semblance of composure. “However, I will indulge your… inquiry. What do you want to know about Madame Lestrange?”
Dumbledore leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “Severus, look at this woman carefully. Do you recognize her as Petunia Evans? Lily Evans’ older Muggle sister?”
The question hung in the air. Snape stared at the photograph, his usual sardonic mask faltering for a moment. He scrutinized the image, his gaze lingering on the sharp features, the striking beauty that even the grainy newspaper print couldn’t entirely obscure. Then, a slow, chilling laugh escaped his lips.
“Petunia?” He shook his head, the laughter turning to outright mockery. “Petunia Evans? No. Headmaster, with all due respect, you insult Madame Lestrange. And my intelligence.” He gestured dismissively at the newspaper. “This woman… this Madame Lestrange… she is not Petunia Evans. Not the Petunia I knew. The Petunia I knew was a bitter, envious shrew. This woman…” He paused, his dark eyes glinting with a strange mixture of something akin to awe and apprehension. “This woman is… a force of nature. She possesses a… presence, a power that Petunia Evans could only dream of. No, Headmaster. This is not Petunia Evans. This is… someone else entirely.” He pushed the newspaper back towards Dumbledore. “Now, if you will excuse me, Headmaster, I believe my tea has gone quite cold. And Madame Lestrange’s… progress awaits my further perusal.” He swept out of the office, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
Then paused, his gaze lingering on Frank, still pale and shaken. “Ah, Longbottom. It appears you have experienced Madame Lestrange’s…wrath. Consider yourself…enlightened.” With a final, sardonic bow, Severus Snape swept from the office.
Frank and Alice exchanged bewildered glances. Moody muttered, “Someone else entirely… Bloody hell, Albus. What have we stumbled into?”
Dumbledore remained silent, his blue eyes fixed on the closed door, a profound unease settling deep within him. If Madame Lestrange was not Petunia Evans, then who was she? And what did it mean for the wizarding world, that a completely unknown, terrifyingly capable Muggle had not only infiltrated the Dark families but had seemingly risen to become their unexpected and formidable leader? The preposterous situation had just become undeniably, and terrifyingly, real. And Dumbledore had the chilling premonition that this was only the beginning.