The mage

Lestrange Manor ~~ Library ~~ soon after Voldemort's defeat

Against what some might suggest or imagine, Rodolphus Lestrange was neither ignorant nor a cruel and sadistic being. Indeed, he did not hold Muggle-borns in high esteem, but his aversion stemmed not so much from their blood as from their lack of respect. They intruded into their world without taking the time to adapt, to inform themselves about their culture, filled with prejudices. They despised the culture of the magical world, judging it too archaic, too rooted in tradition, and, above all, obsolete. They made no attempt to assimilate, with the exception of a few chosen ones. But this did not push Rodolphus to join the ranks of the Death Eaters. In reality, he had never considered joining this movement, which, according to his grandfather, had strayed from its original principles after Voldemort had descended into madness. This was also the reason why their ancestor had turned away from the dark wizard, keeping his title of Lord in the process, as he was not marked with the sinister dark mark on his forearm. Such constraints did not exist in the time of the Knights of Walpurgis.

Unfortunately, Rodolphus's father was a power-hungry fool who decided to submit to Voldemort and forced his sons to do the same. Thus, Rodolphus, along with his younger brother Rabastan, were compelled to join the Death Eaters.

"No! No! No! Nooooo!" A voice echoed through the manor.

This was not the case with my wife, he thought. Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black, the woman he had married, did not share his values at all, having rushed to join the dark wizard like a faithful, dangerous but loyal dog. Besides her mental derangement, this fury refused to have sexual relations with her own husband, thus preventing the birth of an heir for the family.

Originally, he was destined to marry Andromeda Black, but she fell in love with a Muggle-born, one of the few Rodolphus considered tolerable, and was disowned by her own father, Cygnus Black. But not entirely, if the rumors about her daughter, known to be a Metamorphmagus, were to be believed.

Ultimately, the contract was transferred to Bellatrix. Her father might have been a fool, but he was not cruel, and he tried to break off the engagement contract. Alas, he had not anticipated any exit clause, so convinced was he that it would be Andromeda, who had managed to charm him. In short, Rodolphus's love life was ruined.

Bellatrix cried from afar. "Rodolphus! Rabastan!"

The wizard concealed a smile upon hearing the screams, contemplating his forearm where the mark was almost entirely faded. This could only mean one thing: You-Know-Who had been defeated, but not entirely, otherwise the mark would probably have disappeared.

"'dolphus?" asked a masculine voice behind him.

Rabastan stood there, his eyes still shaken by the disappearance of the mark. Tall and slender, with dark, curly hair, his deep blue eyes, characteristic of the Lestranges, sparkled with hope at this news, while a slight smile curled his thin lips. Unlike Rodolphus, Rabastan was clean-shaven, which, along with their height difference, Rodolphus being the taller, was their only distinguishing feature. Otherwise, they were as alike as two peas in a pod, which was amusing considering their three-year age difference.

Rodolphus reassured him firmly, "I'll take care of everything, little brother, don't worry".

The thirty-two-year-old wizard brandished his wand and waited, on the alert, watching for the furious footsteps that were rapidly approaching. As soon as the door opened, he unleashed the Stupefy spell with all his might. Bellatrix's eyes widened in astonishment before she collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"Why did you do that?" Rabastan asked, looking at the young woman's body. "When she wakes up..."

"We'll be far from here", Rodolphus interrupted him. "Deepy! Hoorey!"

At Rodolphus's command, two dull thuds sounded, heralding the appearance of two house-elves, a male and a female. They were a couple in the service of the Lestrange family, acquired shortly before Rodolphus and Bellatrix's marriage. Unlike other house-elves, they wore relatively sober outfits, made of black and blue fabric drapes in the shape of togas, all held together by a small golden brooch bearing the Lestrange coat of arms.

"What cans Deepy and Hoorey does for master?" Deepy asked, bowing.

"Prepare our belongings, we're going to stay for a while at the main Manor in France", Rodolphus announced. "You will come with us and are forbidden to respond or obey Bellatrix."

"As master wishes!" they responded in unison before disappearing.

"We're going to France?" Rabastan was surprised. "I thought the manor had been sold?"

"Not at all", Rodolphus retorted. "That was a lie to keep Bellatrix and the Dark Lord at bay. That's where grandfather lives. Once there, we'll just have to banish Bellatrix. We'll wait for things to settle down. I have no doubt that the news of his defeat will spread quickly, and a real hunt for Death Eaters will ensue."

"And then?" Rabastan worried. "You know there's an extradition treaty with France. And even if grandfather is influential, it might not be enough."

"Then we'll tell the truth", Rodolphus stated more gravely. "That our father forced us, that we had no choice. We'll plead for mercy and, if necessary, denounce other Death Eaters, Bellatrix at the top of the list."

"We'll be hated by everyone", Rabastan noted.

"No matter, as long as we're safe", Rodolphus smiled. "And who knows, maybe we'll find a wife for you? You know that as long as I'm married to that fury, I'll have no children."

"If only the contract didn't forbid us from killing her", Rabastan sighed, looking at Bellatrix's body.

Rodolphus didn't respond, but his look clearly expressed his agreement. With a loud noise, they left the manor, never to see it again. The reason? Upon waking, Bellatrix set the entire building on fire and embarked on a quest to find her master... starting with the Longbottoms.

Malefoy Manor ~~ private drawing room ~~ at the same time

The private salon of the Malfoys, unparalleled in splendor, was a true architectural masterpiece. The shiny black marble floor reflected the soft light rays caressing the walls adorned with finely crafted stones, enhanced by large arched windows. Between two of these openings stood a monumental fireplace, carved from the same noble stone, dominating the room; its hearth, so vast a man could stand upright within, housed a fervent fire, devouring logs with an almost living voracity.

In front of this fireplace was a black leather armchair, its high back proudly silhouetted against the interplay of shadows and lights. Positioned to offer an oblique view of the hearth, this solitary throne beckoned to contemplation. At its feet, a luxurious carpet woven with red and white floral patterns added warmth to the setting. Nearby, an antique wooden side table held a bronze candelabrum, its heavy silhouette stark against the flame's brilliance. Across, a sofa and various sculpted chests and furniture completed this scene of timeless elegance.

Yet, what truly captured attention was the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy, ensconced in the armchair. His long, silky blonde hair framed a face marked by reflection and a hint of melancholy. His gray eyes, like two storms ready to burst, betrayed deep concern. Delicately holding a glass of brandy, he seemed lost in thought, shortly after tucking in his son Draco, the star of his existence, the treasure he cherished above all, even before Narcissa, his devoted wife.

Lucius, a Death Eater more by compulsion than conviction, was tormented by the potential repercussions of his choices and actions on his heir. A fervent advocate for blood purity, he despised the Muggle world and anything that, in his view, tainted the nobility of his lineage. Yet, he did not desire the eradication of non-pures, for, as his father Abraxas had taught, the greatness of some is measured by the pettiness of others — "There cannot be rich without poor, pure-bloods without Muggle-borns, nobles without commoners."

Abraxas Malfoy, though a loving father, had been a gullible man, pledging his family to Voldemort's service from the time of the Knights of Walpurgis, remaining loyal until his last breath. Lucius, barely seventeen, had been coerced into accepting the dark mark, a burden he bore with resigned bitterness. Thankfully, this forced allegiance had not marred his union with Narcissa, the love of his life, whose affection and presence were the sole salves to his torments.

And now, he knew everything was about to change dramatically; his arm had burned a few hours earlier, and he had seen with his own eyes the mark vanish, leaving behind a pale, spectral tattoo. A decision was imperative.

"Lucius?" Narcissa asked with a concerned look. "What are we going to do?"

"What's necessary, my love," the blond replied. "I'll go to the ministry and explain my situation. I could always claim the Imperius, but it would be easier if I had something to help convince them."

"A donation, perhaps?" suggested Narcissa, aware of how some government members were greedy. "They'll need all the money they can get to rebuild some areas."

"It's possible, but they might just seize our assets," Lucius fretted, taking a sip of his brandy.

"We could also..." Narcissa began.

She was interrupted by a sharp pop, and the house-elf Tobby appeared before them, standing upright.

"The rat is at the door, sir, should Tobby let him in?" the house-elf asked, bowing.

"The rat?" Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

Lucius sat up, an idea dawning on him. He knew the rat was none other than Peter Pettigrew, who had betrayed the Potters' hideout to the Dark Lord. It was surely no coincidence that he showed up on the very night the latter had been defeated.

"Let him in and bring him here," Lucius ordered, setting down his glass.

"Lucius?" Narcissa asked, intrigued, as the house-elf disappeared. "An explanation?"

"The rat refers to Peter Pettigrew, who turned out to be a traitor to the Order of the Phoenix," explained the blond wizard. "He revealed the Potters' location to You-Know-Who. Funny coincidence he shows up tonight, when he's been defeated, don't you think?"

Narcissa's eyes lit up with understanding. The rat must possess crucial information. Moments later, the salon doors opened to admit the house-elf, accompanied by Peter, looking as wretched as ever. Panic was evident on his face.

"What brings you here, vermin?" Lucius asked, his disdain for Peter evident.

"Lucius, my friend, I need your help," Peter stammered, ignoring the insults. "The Dark Lord..."

That's when Peter Pettigrew revealed all he knew about the situation. How Voldemort had been defeated by a child, and how he had retrieved the wand from the ashes. Before he could finish, Lucius rose, drew his wand from his cane, and cast a Stupefy spell on Peter, catching him off guard. He collapsed, unconscious.

"My love?" Narcissa asked, puzzled.

"It seems we've found the element, or rather the person, who will help us establish our innocence," Lucius smiled. "Incarcerem!"

Ropes sprang from his wand, binding Peter's unconscious body, who was unaware of what was to come.

"I see," Narcissa replied with a slight smile. "Do you need me to accompany you?"

"It's best if you stay here with Draco; we never know what might happen, and we still haven't heard from your sister," Lucius said, levitating the unconscious body.

"You're right, it's more prudent," she agreed. "In that case, I'll leave you to it and go to bed. Good luck."

She uttered these last words, kissing her husband tenderly before leaving the salon. Lucius mentally prepared himself before Apparating, taking Peter Pettigrew's unconscious body with him.

Wigtown ~~ At the same time

Howls echoed through the streets of Wigtown, famous for its exceptional Quidditch team, the Wigtown Wanderers, and cherished as one of the most charming wizarding villages. But that night, the screams piercing the usual calm betrayed a much darker reality.

The source of the chaos was clear: homes ablaze, lifeless bodies strewn about, while four figures draped in long black robes, their faces hidden behind white skull masks, unleashed a veritable fireworks display of spells, illuminating the night with their sinister colors.

This group of Death Eaters, led by Thorfinn Rowle and comprising Ellis Gibbon, Evanus Jugson, and Everett Selwyn, had chosen to sow terror in Toupeyville, targeting resistant families like the Parkers in particular. They were certainly not in Voldemort's inner circle, but hoped, through this show of force, to gain his favor. What they did not realize was that their exclusion from the inner circle was not due to a lack of power, but to their blatant lack of sagacity. Had they been more perceptive, they would have understood why Wigtown had remained safe from assaults until then.

"Incendio!" Rowle cast, a malicious smile on his lips, setting the roof of a house ablaze.

"Bombarda!" Gibbon bellowed, blowing up a fountain depicting a centaur. "What a shame to venerate such creatures!"

"The Dark Lord will reward us for..." Everett Selwyn began, before collapsing in pain.

He was not the only one to fall; his accomplices followed, struck down by excruciating pain in their arms. Thorfinn, the first to roll up his sleeve, turned pale at the sight of his dark mark fading. The pain was unbearable, the disappearance of the mark, a terrifying omen. Cracks were heard, and through his mask, Thorfinn's eyes widened.

"Aurors, freeze!" bellowed the voice of John Dawlish, appearing by Apparition. "Petrificus Totalus!"

The Aurors did not hesitate, casting paralysis spells that immobilized the defenseless Death Eaters. The coincidence of their mark's disappearance with the Aurors' arrival, coupled with the intensity of their pain, rendered them unable to retaliate. They were promptly taken to the Ministry for trial, before ending their days in the dark cells of Azkaban.

Crouch Manor ~~ Barty Crouch Jr. bedroom ~~ at the same time

Barty Crouch Junior was intently observing his arm, gritting his teeth against the pain coursing through it. Tears escaped his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. At first glance, one might have thought these tears stemmed from pain, anger, or sadness. But in reality, it was quite the opposite: these were tears of joy flooding the young wizard's face.

He was finally emerging from a long numbness, a direct consequence of the Imperius Curse under which he had been placed for years. It was Voldemort himself who had subjected him to this curse when Barty was just a fourteen-year-old teenager (he was now twenty-one). Bellatrix Lestrange, whom he had believed to be his friend, had forced him to present himself before the Dark Lord in a secret room at the Three Broomsticks. His submission was crucial for Voldemort, as Barty was the son of Bartemius Crouch Senior, the Head Judge of the Council of Magical Law and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Thus, he had been forced to provide information to the Death Eaters, spying against his will on his own father whom he admired so much. His father had indeed noticed something unusual about his son but had concluded it must be a phase of adolescence. He also did not question Barty's desire to stay with his parents, which pleased his mother, who was seriously ill and of a fragile constitution.

Barty harbored a fierce hatred towards Bellatrix, a visceral aversion now that he was freed from the grip of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts by a knock at his door.

"My son? Are you alright?" asked a soft, feminine voice.

"Yes, I..." Barty began, but his voice broke. "I..."

Hearing her son's hoarse and broken voice, Helena Crouch, née Prewett, entered the room, looking worried. She rushed to her son, seeing tears streaming down his tired face, noting that his eyes were unusually bright.

"Barty!" she exclaimed, embracing him. "What's wrong, my darling? What's happening?"

"Mom, I... I have something to tell you," Barty replied, his voice laden with emotion.

Under his mother's understanding and anxious gaze, Barty revealed what he had endured, showing his arm where the Dark Mark was starting to disappear. The woman gasped in surprise, her hand over her mouth, shocked by this revelation. In turn, her eyes filled with tears, realizing she had never noticed that her son was no longer himself.

"Come with me, my son, we're going straight to the Ministry," she said, standing up and taking her son's hand in hers.

"But what will he say? He'll never believe me," Barty worried.

"In that case, you'll have to swear the truth with your wand," she replied. "If what you say is true, your wand will light up white. We can't waste any time, my darling, your father is probably still at his office."

"I... I don't feel well, Mom," Barty admitted.

Turning around, she saw he was pale as a sheet, trembling, and visibly exhausted. She internally cursed herself for having overlooked the possible consequences of the curse on her son, now that he was free.

"Then we'll go to St. Mungo's, your father can wait," she decided, as Barty nodded weakly.

The witch and her son thus left the manor to head to the hospital. They were fortunate to leave when they did, for a few minutes after their departure, an enraged Bellatrix, who had awoken a short while earlier, appeared at their gate. Receiving no response, the witch departed with even greater anger than upon her arrival, suspecting that young Crouch must now be free. She was determined to find her master and make these traitors pay for their betrayal.

Daily Prophet Office ~~ Few minutes after the end of chapter 2-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Rita Skeeter was still a young journalist who hadn't had much chance to prove herself. For this reason, she had been sent to the Ministry of Magic to cover the trials of the Death Eaters, and when there were none, to linger around the Ministry in search of a scoop. Initially displeased with this assignment, she was now over the moon.

She then observed what she had written, approved just seconds earlier by her director, Barnabas Cuffe. Her smile sharpened as she read, savoring each letter, each word, which she knew would make her popular. The scoop of the century was in her hands, and in a few hours, the entire magical world would be aware.

There was only one thing left to do: get as close as possible to Harry Potter and Sirius Black. She had to become their dedicated journalist, by any means possible.

As she left the room to go to sleep, on her desk lay the very first edition of the newspaper that would travel around the entire world, with an exceptional headline on the front page.

The Daily Prophet

The Boy Who Lived

By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

In a turn of events as unexpected as it was extraordinary, the wizarding world witnessed an unprecedented coup de théâtre on that fateful night of October 31, 1981. Voldemort, the dark wizard whose very name was enough to chill the blood of the bravest, was defeated. But the most surprising part of this story, dear readers, is the identity of the one by whom this defeat came: a baby. Yes, you read that right. A child, no taller than three apples, is now known as "The Boy Who Lived."

The details of that night remain murky, shrouded in a mystery as thick as the mists of Azkaban, but one thing is certain: as the sky was tinted with the darkest of blacks, a glimmer of hope emerged in the small village of Godric's Hollow. It was there that the Potters, a family known for their courage and commitment to the fight against the forces of evil, met their fate. James and Lily Potter, eminent members of the Order of the Phoenix, were tragically killed, leaving behind not only an immeasurable void but also a son, Harry Potter.

What happened next is incredible. You-Know-Who, armed with all his evil power, apparently turned against young Harry, then only a year old. But instead of the expected disaster, it was You-Know-Who's own Killing Curse that backfired on him, reducing him to less than nothing. And little Harry? He emerged with nothing more than a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, a symbol of his miraculous survival.

Rumors abound about what could have caused Voldemort's downfall. Albus Dumbledore speaks of a love so powerful it acted as a shield around young Harry. Whatever the case, the "Boy Who Lived" is now etched in history as the symbol of light triumphing over darkness.

But where is Harry Potter now, you ask? According to reliable sources, the young hero has been entrusted to the care of his godfather, the young Sirius Orion Black, eldest son and heir of the House of Black. We do not know where he will live with our young hero at the moment, but rest assured, I will do everything to find out.

One thing is for sure, dear readers, the night of October 31, 1981, will forever be etched in our memories as the night when hope defeated fear, where a child achieved what an entire community believed impossible. The "Boy Who Lived" now carries on his shoulders not only a scar but the future of our world. Stay tuned for more revelations about this imagination-defying story.

Rita Skeeter, always where history is written.