The charms of cold light pierce
In the cold, dank cell of Azkaban, Lucille Lupin lay on the hard, unforgiving cot, her breath shallow and her body trembling from the chilling presence of the Dementors just outside. As she drifted into a restless sleep, a memory surfaced, vivid and haunting.
She was back in the village, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows as she stood at a market stall, selecting potatoes. The evening air was crisp, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. Suddenly, the seller's eyes widened in fear, his hand frozen mid-air as he pointed shakily behind her.
"What happened?" Lucille asked, her heart beginning to race.
"Behind you," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart.
Lucille felt a hot, menacing breath on the back of her neck, sending a jolt of terror through her. Instinctively, she reached into her pocket, her fingers closing around her wand. She spun around, her wand raised, ready to defend herself. But before she could fully comprehend what she was facing, she saw it—a Werewolf, its eyes gleaming with predatory hunger.
Instinctively, she shouted a curse, her voice echoing through the evening air as the spell shot from her wand.
"’Mione, run!" Lucille managed to scream, her voice filled with desperation as she warned her friend who had been accompanying her.
Hermione's eyes widened in horror, and she began to back away, her wand at the ready. Lucille hurled curse after curse at the beast, but it was too fast, too strong. With a feral growl, the Werewolf lunged at her, its claws slashing through the air. Lucille felt herself being thrown to the ground, pain searing through her shoulder as the creature's fangs sank into her flesh.
A scream tore from her throat as she struggled against the overpowering force of the beast. Looking up, she saw the full moon hanging ominously in the sky, bathing the scene in an eerie glow. Just as the darkness began to close in, Hermione's voice rang out with a desperate incantation, a curse that struck the werewolf and forced it to release its grip.
Lucille's vision blurred with pain and fear. Too late, she thought, feeling the poison of the bite coursing through her veins. The last thing she saw before the world went dark was Hermione's face, stricken with horror and guilt.
With a gasp, Lucille jolted awake, her heart racing as the memory faded, replaced by the grim reality of her Azkaban cell. The cold, damp air clung to her skin, and she shivered uncontrollably. The oppressive silence was broken only by the distant, echoing footsteps of somebody patrolling the corridors.
She lay there, her body aching, the pain in her shoulder a cruel reminder of that fateful night. Tears welled up in her eyes, a mixture of despair and longing for the life she had lost. As the footsteps grew louder, a new wave of fear washed over her. She was alone, trapped in a nightmare from which there was no waking.
Suddenly, the door of Lucille's cell creaked open, the cold air from the corridor seeping in. Two Death Eaters stood menacingly at the threshold, their faces hidden in shadow. From between them emerged Severus Snape, his cloak billowing around him like a dark specter.
"Get up, Lupin," Snape's voice cut through the silence, cold and commanding. He stepped inside, his presence dominating the small cell. "I had to put on this show," he began, his tone as neutral and indifferent as ever. "Your trial was necessary. You slaughtered many wizards, and their families demanded justice. Azkaban was the only acceptable verdict."
Lucille's eyes, still red from tears and filled with confusion, met Snape's. "I don't understand," she whispered, her voice raw. "I don't know how I ended up working for Voldemort. I have no desire to continue this path. I am to stay here and pay for my crime."
Snape's expression remained unchanged, a mask of indifference. "It's not up to you, Lupin. The Dark Lord has plans with you, and I am merely executing his orders. Your personal desires are irrelevant."
He turned slightly, calling out, "Petar."
A man stepped forward, emerging from the shadows. He was about Lucille's height, his body marked with scars and tattoos that hinted at countless battles. His dark eyes held a predatory gleam, and his disheveled hair and rugged appearance gave him an aura of dangerous allure. His presence was intense and he exuded a raw, untamed power. Despite his unkempt appearance, there was something undeniably familiar about him.
"Come on, cousin," Petar said, his voice a deep, velvety rumble. "Time to go."
Lucille's eyes widened in shock and confusion. "What? Who are you?" she said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.
Petar's gaze softened slightly, but he remained resolute. "It's not the time for explanations, Lucille. We need to leave."
As he reached out to take her arm, Lucille recoiled, panic flooding her senses. She fought him, her movements frantic and desperate. Petar moved with a fluid grace, his strength evident as he subdued her without causing harm. Despite her struggles, he managed to pin her down, eyeing with a mixture of determination and regret.
"Forgive me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he secured her arms.
Lucille's breath came in ragged gasps, her strength waning as she realized the futility of her resistance. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "No, please, just let me go! Leave me alone!"
Snape, watching the scene unfold with his usual detachment, simply turned and gestured for Petar to follow. "It's high time we left," he repeated, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls.
As Petar lifted her to her feet, Lucille felt a strange, unsettling sense of familiarity in his touch, a connection she couldn't quite place. The memory of her dream lingered, the pain of the bite on her shoulder throbbing in time with her heartbeat. As they left the cell, the oppressive darkness of Azkaban seemed to swallow her whole.