Battlegrounds
Bones Estate, Outskirts of Oxfordshire
The scent of roasted lamb and spiced cider filled the air, wrapping the home in a comforting embrace as the Bones family gathered in the sitting room. Candles burned along the mantle, their soft glow casting warmth upon the faces of those seated together, reveling in the rare peace that the war had not yet stolen from them.
"You always let him win, Harrison," Meagan teased, nudging her brother-in-law with a knowing smirk. She gently swayed with her newborn daughter tucked against her as she watched her son Lucas, triumphantly wave his wooden sword. "One day, he’s going to realize how easily you fall to the floor."
Harrison chuckled, ruffling his nephew’s hair. "One day, he won’t need me to let him. He’s got his father’s stance—just needs to learn not to close his eyes before he swings."
Edgar huffed, crossing his arms in mock offense. "I’ll have you know, I only did that when I was six."
Reginald, the family head, chuckled from his chair, taking a slow draw from his pipe. "I remember it well. Nearly knocked yourself out running into a bookcase."
Laughter rippled through the room as Margery adjusted little Susan in her arms, rocking her daughter gently. "It’s good to hear everyone laughing. Feels like it’s been too long."
Aurora placed a hand on her daughter-in-law’s shoulder. "That’s why we cherish nights like these, my dear. No war. No worry. Just family."
A comfortable silence settled over them, broken only by the occasional giggle of the children and the quiet crackling of the fire. Then, it happened.
A terrible, suffocating dread crashed down upon them. The wards, ancient and strong, buckled under an immense force, their shattering cry echoing through the house like breaking glass. The very air trembled with the weight of the magic that had been torn apart. Harrison and Edgar were already on their feet, wands drawn. Margery instinctively clutched Susan closer, her breath hitching in panic.
Reginald, composed as always, gingerly placed his pipe on the stand and rose from his chair, turning toward the door, preparing to face whatever had disturbed his family's peace. A soft click echoed through the home. The door slowly creaked open, as if under its own accord. There was no sound, no movement. A flash of sickly green light streaked through the air, and Reginald Bones fell to the floor, lifeless.
Silence reigned. The world was reduced to a moment suspended in time until Margery’s scream split the air, raw and horrified. Edgar and Harrison surged forward, their wands alight, as masked figures poured through the threshold like wraiths of death.
Aurora’s instincts roared to life. She spun to Margery, voice sharp. "Go! Take Susan and run!"
Margery hesitated, clutching her daughter, torn between flight and the horror unfolding before her.
“Go!” Aurora commanded.
Margery nodded, turning on her heel and fleeing from the room. Aurora’s eyes looked back, searching for Meagan—only to find her frozen, mouth agape, staring at something unseen. Blood dripped from her eyes and nose as her hands trembled, her newborn slipping from her grasp to the floor. There was no scream, no warning... no body. A fine red mist was all that remained where Meagan Bones had once stood.
Aurora choked on a cry, bile rising in her chest. The room was ablaze with battle—Edgar and Harrison fought like men possessed, red and green flashes illuminating their desperate struggle. One of their attackers fell, and for a moment, hope crept in. Then Edgar faltered.
“No!” Aurora screamed.
A jagged bolt of dark magic lanced through his chest. He staggered, eyes wide, lips parting in shock. He turned toward her, as if trying to speak—then collapsed.
Harrison roared in fury, sending Death Eaters reeling. The house shook with the force of their duel, furniture splintering, windows shattering. But then the air shifted. A cold presence slithered into the room, chilling the very marrow of her bones.
The Death Eaters stilled. A figure stepped through the carnage, moving with the languid grace of a predator. His pale face was smooth as carved marble, his crimson eyes burning with detached amusement.
Lord Voldemort had arrived.
Harrison’s grip tightened around his wand. His chest heaved, but he did not cower. The Death Eaters drew back, forming a loose semi-circle, their deference unmistakable.
Voldemort surveyed the destruction with quiet satisfaction. “A valiant effort,” he mused, his voice a deadly caress. “But futile. Did you truly believe you could stand against me?”
Harrison’s jaw clenched. "Go to hell."
Voldemort sighed, as if disappointed. "How dull."
With a flick of his wrist, Harrison was wrenched into the air. He convulsed under an invisible force, his wand slipping from his grasp. Aurora rushed forward to help her son, but a casual wave of Voldemort’s hand sent Harrison hurtling across the room. He crashed into the far wall and crumpled, unmoving.
Aurora felt her heart shatter; her sons, her love, they were gone. She ran. She had to reach Margery. They had to at least get Susan out. She turned down the hallway leading to the back of the manor, only to see a masked figure in black, slumped against the wall. Fear gripped her heart as she followed a bloody trail leading to the nursery. Margery was on her knees, her breath coming in wheezing gasps. Bloody hands fumbled as she worked frantically to transfigure a hidden compartment under the floorboard.
“Margery, there’s no time!” Aurora urged. "We have to—"
"I know," Margery rasped.
Aurora swallowed hard, gaze dropping to the deep crimson soaking the fabric at Margery’s back. A wound. Fatal. Margery knew it too. But still, she moved. With shaking fingers, she placed Susan into the hollow beneath the floor. She pressed one final kiss to her baby’s forehead, tears slipping down her cheeks, waving her wand one last time to place her into a light sleep.
“Live, my love,” she whispered. “Please, live.”
The sound of footsteps sent a fresh wave of terror through Aurora’s chest.
She whirled, wand raised. “Margery, stay down!”
The Death Eaters entered and Aurora struck first. Her magic crackled through the air as she fought with all of her strength. She sent one through a wall, another spinning into a bookshelf. But there were too many.
A hooded figure lifted their wand.
"Crucio."
Pain—raw, searing, all-consuming—ripped through Aurora’s body. It burned through her nerves, stole her breath, her voice, leaving her on the ground, twitching, screaming—
Margery let out a choked sob, dragging herself over the hidden compartment. Her body, battered and broken, curled over Susan's hiding place. Protecting her.
A flash of green light—and Margery Bones was gone. Aurora tried to crawl forward, agony screaming through her veins, until a shadow engulfed her, suffocating in its presence.
Her limp body was lifted from the floor by an unseen force, dragging her like a marionette on broken strings. The wooden planks passed beneath her as she floated along, pulled inexorably toward the living room; the place where their peaceful evening had unraveled into nightmare.
With a jarring thud, she was dropped unceremoniously onto the cold floor, pain flaring through her battered limbs. To her left, a child's cries rang out, sharp and piercing against the night. Aurora turned her head with sluggish desperation, her breath hitching at the sight. Lucas lay unmoving, his small body contorted beside his newborn sister, who wailed in frightened distress.
Voldemort stood above her, his wand twirling lazily between his fingers.
“Crawl back to your Ministry,” he murmured, his voice mockingly soft. “Crawl to Dumbledore and Peverell. Let them know… this is the price of defiance.” He turned his cruel gaze to the children as a terrible, hissing sound spilled from his lips, sending a shiver down Aurora's spine.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the great beast—a monstrous serpent, its gleaming eyes as cold and pitiless as its master. It coiled forward, its forked tongue tasting the air, sensing the terror that thickened the room. Aurora felt herself go numb, paralyzed by the horror unfolding before her. It was too much. Her breath hitched, her body trembled, and a silent, anguished cry tore from her throat as she stared directly into the cackling abyss of evil.
With a final flick of his wand, Aurora Bones was sent hurtling through the broken remains of her home, and darkness overtook her.
Somewhere beneath the floorboards, beneath the body of the mother who had died to save her, a child slept—oblivious to the atrocities that had unfolded above.
……
Amelia Bones arrived at the ruins of her childhood home. The scent of blood and burning wood filled her lungs, making her stomach twist. Her wand was clenched so tightly in her fist that her knuckles turned white, her mind screaming at her to move, to search, to find them.
She stepped forward, her boots crunching over shattered glass and splintered wood. The once-grand sitting room lay in ruins, furniture upturned, walls scorched from spellfire. Her gaze darted frantically across the devastation, heart hammering.
Her father lay lifeless on the floor, his expression frozen in finality. Her brothers, once strong and full of life, slumped over, unmoving.
"A... melia," a broken voice whispered through the air.
She whipped her head around, desperate to find the source. In the corner of the room, only her torso visible, sticking out from the rubble, was Aurora.
"Mother!" Amelia exclaimed running to her and kneeling at her side. "Please, hold on. The Aurors and Healers should be here any moment."
"Don't... worry... about me, child. Susan is... you must... find her. Nursery," was all she was able to say before consciousness escaped her again.
Amelia pushed herself to her feet, forcing her limbs to move. She stepped over the lifeless form of a Death Eater in the doorway, barely sparing them a glance. The hallway was a ruin—floors splintered, walls crumbled, and jagged beams jutted from the ceiling like broken ribs. Fear clawed at her chest. Could a child have survived this? How would she even find her?
It was at that moment she heard it. A feint, barely audible whimper.
Determination surged through her veins as she followed it, moving aside fallen beams and debris with her wand, her hands trembling. And then she saw her—Margery, her still form draped over a section of the floorboards, as if shielding something beneath her.
"No, no, no..." Amelia dropped to her knees, hands pressing against her sister-in-law’s cooling skin. Her vision blurred. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she forced herself to move. With careful, desperate hands, she lifted Margery’s lifeless form and pried open the hidden compartment beneath her.
A pair of wide, terrified eyes met hers.
Amelia choked back a sob as she reached down, her arms wrapping around the small, trembling figure. Susan clung to her instantly, small fingers fisting into Amelia’s robes, her tiny frame wracked with silent shudders.
Amelia pressed a trembling kiss to the child's red curls, her tears falling freely now. "You're safe now, little one. I promise."
But as she held Susan close, surrounded by the ghosts of her family, she made another silent vow.
They would pay for this. Every single one of them.
Grimmauld Place
Sirius sat in one of the ornate wingback chairs of his childhood home. He took in the same dark emerald walls held up by ancient oak even older than the man sat across from him.
His grandfather, Arcturus, current head of the House of Black, had ‘requested’ this meeting with him. He wanted to refuse, but to his surprise, he felt compelled to come. That could only mean one thing. He had been reinstated into the Black Family. He could feel it in the way the house no longer felt foreign to him, the subtle tug of the family magic pressing against his instincts. It wasn’t control—no, he was far too strong-minded for that—but it was enough to make him stay. Enough to make him interested.
When he had fled to the Potters while still in Hogwarts, his mother had thrown a fit for the ages and had him banished from their lineage. He had never entertained returning to this place. Frankly, he didn’t care what happened to it. It could all rot away into history tomorrow and he wouldn’t shed a tear. But his curiosity got the better of him, and getting reinstated was something he never expected. So now he was here, back in his old home, to find out why.
“So old man, why am I here? I doubt you were suddenly struck with the urge to check in with your least favorite grandson.”
Arcturus just stared at him evenly, unflinching until he finally began to speak.
“Our house, once strong and numerous, has eroded to near nothing. I and your cousins are all that remain.”
“So I’ve noticed, but I don’t see what that has to do with me. I hold no love for your ideals, and if you expect me to care that our esteemed family is near its end, well… sorry to say you’ll be disappointed,” a wry, taunting smile spread across Sirius’ face.
“I know we had our differences in your youth, but—”
“Differences?” Sirius hissed. “Differences would be me preferring licorice wands to your chocolate frogs. Differences would be me cheering for Puddlemere and you Newcastle. This family supported bigotry for a thousand years and subjected me to ridicule and abuse when I rejected it. This family was built on blood, hatred, and prejudice and I refused to embrace it. These aren’t ‘differences.’ You act as if we stand on opposite sides of a stream, when in reality a chasm lay between us.”
“You’re right.”
For a moment, Sirius forgot his rage, his anger at this family that laid claim to him. He caught himself before his jaw hung slack in surprise at words he never expected to hear in his lifetime.
Arcturus continued, “You are right, Sirius. Since I was a young boy, I was taught the doctrine of our house. I believed that our blood was superior to all others. We are the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. No other could compare. I was raised to believe muggleborns would destroy our world and half-bloods were the spawn of blood traitors. I have watched our proud family dwindle. Our minds decay into madness. Our magic grow weak.”
He paused to stand, walking to the tapestry filled with the names of Black Family members since their inception, Sirius’ grey eyes tracking his every step.
“Over the years, I have come to accept that we have doomed our future. That our way of life, may as well have been a curse we placed upon ourselves.”
Sirius remained quiet, not quite sure he was believing what he heard. Arcturus turned to meet his eyes.
“I once thought Regulus to be the best of us. He believed in the power and purity of his blood, but he did not submit those beneath him to cruelty. Had he been born to any other family, I have no doubt he would have achieved greatness even I could not predict. When he announced his intention to join the Death Eaters, to follow that upstart pretender, I knew we had driven him to a terrible fate. That so-called Dark Lord is a pestilence that will destroy all we hold dear. Bellatrix, once a bright young witch, became a rabid dog enslaved of her own volition. Narcissa was gifted too hastily to that young cur of Abraxas. He doesn’t even have half of his father’s political acumen or cunning. Andromeda married that muggleborn and ceased all contact. You ran away, casting aside your name. And Regulus… I had placed all of my hopes for our family on his shoulders, and he was dragged down to an early grave.”
“What are you trying to say? Why tell me this now?” Sirius whispered, afraid his voice would break whatever spell had settled around them.
“I was wrong, Sirius. And I am sorry.”
Sirius’ breath caught in his throat. He stared at Arcturus, struggling to comprehend the words he had never imagined hearing. The older man’s gaze did not waver.
“I have led our family to ruin, yet you stood against our ways; you forged your own path, and now you prosper while we fall. I once thought you a disgrace. Now, I see that you are our only hope. I would name you, my heir. You need only accept, and I will relinquish everything to you.”
Sirius dropped his gaze to the floor, stunned. He clenched his fists, nails digging into the arms of his chair. He didn’t want this; he didn’t want anything to do with this family. He left years ago; he was free and he would not allow them to pull him back in.
He raised his head to meet Arcturus’ gaze, defiance coursing through him as it always had.
“I don’t need nor want your money, or your fancy Lord title. The things I stand for trump all of them together.”
“Do you even understand what I am offering? You would be the Lord Black. You would have the power and influ-“
“And I told you I don’t want it!” Sirius shouted, rising from his chair. “I’m leaving. This family can suffer whatever fate it deserves.”
He walked to the door leading to the entrance hall, intent on getting the hell out of this place when a thunderous rapture sounded through the room.
Arcturus slammed his raven crowned cane into the ground with gritted teeth, “Enough! Loathe me, curse your blood, forsake everything this family was built on. It matters not to me now, but you will cease this petulance. You are no longer a child, but a man grown; act like it!”
He stalked toward Sirius, pointing the tip of his cane into his shoulder for emphasis as his expression darkened.
“End your tantrum and think for but a moment about what I am offering you. I know you care not for wealth, power, and influence, but that is exactly what you need if you wish to stand against Voldemort.”
Sirius froze at the casual way his grandfather spoke the name.
“Think, not of me, or this family, but your children. What of your girls, the twins, Cordelia and Callisto? What of your son, Altair? I am giving you the means to protect them beyond your current capabilities. To keep your family safe. You can take this family and remake it in your image. And if that isn’t enough incentive for you, think about who will inherit it if you don’t…”
Sirius swallowed, and slowly grabbed the tip of the cane, removing it from his shoulder.
“I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise you right now.”
Arcturus let out a huff. “Don’t take too long to decide. The war waits for no one, and neither does death.”
Sirius nodded his head then turned to exit the home.
Arcturus sighed and walked back to his chair. He tossed back what was left of his fire whiskey and set to writing a few important letters, hoping his grandson would see reason.
......
Sirius stepped out onto the streets of Muggle London, Grimmauld Place fading into the shadows behind him. His first thought was to head straight to James’ place for a stiff drink, but the need to return home and check on Marlene and the children won out. The meeting with Arcturus had left him restless, his mind warring with itself over what had been offered.
He grasped his wand, concentrated, and felt the familiar twisting pull of Apparition. When the sensation ceased, he found himself standing before the quaint cottage he now called home, nestled on the outskirts of London. But as soon as he stepped inside, a tension in the air prickled at his senses. The house was too quiet—wrong. There was fear lingering in the very walls.
He barely made it five steps before a blur of dark brown hair crashed into him.
“Oh, Godric be good. You’re okay! Where have you been!?” Marlene half-shouted, her hands frantically running over his arms and chest, checking for injuries.
Sirius steadied her, gripping her shoulders. “Calm down, love. I’m alright. I’m alright. What’s wrong? Are you okay? The kids?”
“No, we’re fine, but—” She exhaled sharply, trying to gather herself. “There was an attack, and I couldn’t reach you. I didn’t know where you were, if you were hurt—”
“I was at Grimmauld Place.” He cursed under his breath. “The wards must have blocked you. Shit, Marls, I’m sorry. What attack? What happened?”
Marlene swallowed, her hands gripping his robes as though he might disappear again. “Sirius… they attacked Edgar’s family... They were all together save Amelia.”
A chill swept through him. “No,” he whispered, the blood draining from his face. “No, not Edgar.”
“The children are at Godric’s Hollow with Lily, and the rest of us are waiting there for Dumbledore to return with news. I came back here to find you when you wouldn’t answer.”
Sirius clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay steady. His stomach churned violently, a sickening mix of dread and fury roiling within him. Edgar had been a good man—one of the best they had. One of their own.
“Alright,” he said finally, forcing his voice to remain even. “Let’s go.”
Marlene slipped off a thin silver chain from around her neck, revealing a pendant in the shape of a Snitch. “It’s a Portkey. The wards won't allow Apparition at the moment.”
He took a steadying breath and reached for it. “On three. One… two… three.”
The familiar pull of magic yanked them forward, and in an instant, they stumbled into the living room of James and Lily’s home.
“Padfoot! Where the bloody hell have you been?” James came rushing in, his expression somewhere between relief and exasperation.
Sirius raised his hands in apology. “I was at Grimmauld Place. The old man asked me to stop by.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Short of it? He wants me to take up the Lordship.”
“What?” James and Marlene exclaimed in unison.
“I’ll explain later,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Right now, tell me—do we know anything more about the attack?”
James’ frustration gave way to grim resignation. “No. Dumbledore hasn’t come back yet.” He gestured toward the dining room. “We’re all just… waiting.”
Marlene hesitated, glancing between Sirius and James. “Go ahead and tell us about your meeting. Not like we can do anything at the moment, we might as well hear it now.”
Sirius exhaled sharply. “Alright. Like I said—he wants me to be his heir and take over the family.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Said I was their last hope. Apologized for everything. Can you believe that?”
James crossed his arms, watching him carefully. “And?”
“I told him I’d think about it,” Sirius admitted. “I don’t want anything to do with that family. But… he made some good points. The money, the influence… we could use it in the fight. And I hate to admit it, but Grimmauld Place is one of the safest locations in all of Britain. If things get worse, it might be the best place to protect the kids.”
Marlene reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I know it would be hard, love. But maybe you should accept. Not for their legacy—for ours.”
Sirius swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
Before anything more could be said, a ripple of magic stirred the air. The room fell silent as a whirl of energy coalesced, and then, with a rush of air, Dumbledore appeared, his lavish, multi-colored robes sweeping around him.
“Headmaster?” James stepped forward. The unspoken question hung between them.
Dumbledore’s shoulders sagged slightly, the light in his blue eyes dimmed. He imperceptibly shook his head. “Let us adjourn to the dining hall. The others must hear this as well.”
The three followed him into the room, where hushed conversation died the moment he entered. The Order members gathered, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and trepidation. James, Sirius, and Marlene took their seats as Dumbledore began.
“I am afraid it is beyond even our worst fears,” he said gravely. “I spoke with Amelia, who was not present during the attack. She is at St. Mungo’s, watching over her mother, Aurora, as she recovers. She has also been charged with caring for young Susan.”
Several gasps echoed around the table at the implication. Even those who had suspected the worst hadn’t quite grasped the full extent of it.
“The family is all but gone. Susan, Aurora, and Amelia are the only survivors. And Aurora may not recover from her injuries. The Death Eaters attack was merciless. Edgar and Harrison fought valiantly to protect their family, but all was lost when Voldemort himself appeared.”
Shock and grief rippled through the room. A few members cursed under their breath; others clenched their fists in silent rage.
“What about Edgar’s son Lucas, and their newborn?” Marlene asked, her voice shaking.
Dumbledore hesitated. “Amelia would not give any details… but Edgar and Meagan’s children did not survive.”
“Monsters,” Lily whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. “How could anyone do such a thing?”
Silence hung over the table, thick with anguish and fury. The Order had lost one of their own. A friend. A father. A husband. And Sirius Black, for the first time in years, felt the pull of his family’s name—not as a burden, but as a weapon. One he was no longer hesitant to wield.
St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
A dim light filtered through the window, a pale moon struggling to pierce the ever-present haze that clung to the hospital ward.
Amelia Bones sat in a worn armchair, its faded upholstery rough against her palms. The sterile scent of potions and antiseptic hung in the air, a constant reminder of where she was. Her gaze remained fixed on the unmoving figure in the bed beside her, the faint rise and fall of her mother’s chest the only sign of life.
‘How had it come to this’ she wondered.
Her vision grew watery with tears as she thought of her father and her brothers. Their smiles, their voices, their touch, all lost to her beyond the veil of death. She thought of Meagan and her children; Merlin save them, the children. Thinking of their fate opened an abyss inside her stomach that threatened to drain all feeling. It was worse than being in the presence of a dementor.
The only thing that kept her grounded, kept her going, was the little bundle nestled between her arms. Her niece, no, her daughter now. Margery gave her life so that she could live, and Amelia would do her best to honor that sacrifice.
She had never planned on having children of her own. She had thrown herself into the job, determined to fast track her way to the top. She was supposed to be able to focus on her career. Edgar and Harrison had been groomed to lead the family. Now it fell to her.
‘It’s not fair. Why our family? Why them?’
This thought had plagued her since she arrived at the hospital ward days ago, and the answer was always the same.
Silence.
Susan began to stir, pulling her back from the depths of her bitter descent.
“Shh sweetling. Auntie’s here with you. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
A soft knock at the door put her senses on alert. She tightened her grip on Susan with her left hand as her right reached into the pocket of her robes.
“Madam Bones?” A healer’s timid voice called through the gap in the door. “You have visitors.” Amelia loosened the grip on her wand that was hidden just out of view.
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Heir Greengrass and Lady Peverell.”
Amelia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Send them in.”
Sebastian entered first with a small nod and quick smile to the girl. His sharp eyes swept over the room, taking in the dim light, the shadows, and the defensive edge in Amelia’s posture. Daenerys followed after him, looking regal as always; the moonlight adding an ethereal glow to her pale skin.
“Amelia,” Sebastian started, “My deepest condolences. I know there is little to nothing I can say that would ease your pain, but I am truly sorry. I knew them little, but Edgar and Harrison were good men. It is a terrible tragedy that has befallen your family.” She turned her eyes back to her mother.
“Thank you, Sebastian, I appreciate it; truly I do. But what I want more than your sympathy, is vengeance. I’m going to find out who was with him that night, and I am going to tear them apart piece by piece.”
“So, is the week-long moping about a hospital part of your strategy or is there some other key component I am missing?” Daenerys’ violet eyes bore into Amelia’s assessing her worth.
Amelia recoiled at the brazen remark. A snarl broke out on her face as she replied, “You think I’ve been doing nothing? You think I don’t wish to grab my squad of Aurors and hunt down the bastards this very night?”
Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly as her anger spilled into her words. Even Sebastian took a step back, distancing himself from Amelia’s growing tirade and Daenerys, who merely raised an elegant eyebrow.
“The responsibility of protecting this family falls to me now! I cannot abandon my niece, nor my mother. Who can I trust to keep them safe? As much as I want to rage and take the fight to those animals, I cannot forsake my duty.”
“You’re right. They are a burden to you, not one that you don’t welcome. But you are limited as long as they are in your care. That," Daenerys pointed to herself and then Sebastian continuing, “is why we are here. You cannot do this alone and you don’t have to. Let us help you. Come with me to my home. There is no place safer and I promise, no one will find you there.”
“I don’t need your charity,” Amelia said, as her breathing slowed back to normal.
Sebastian, seeing the tension begin to dissipate, felt brave enough to step forward and add his own opinion.
“No, you don’t need our charity. We know you are more than capable of handling yourself Amelia, believe me. But you are not the concern, she is,” he said pointing to Susan. “You said it yourself, you can’t do your job, and be prepared to defend them at a moment’s notice. You need help, Amelia. And that is what allies do, we help each other.”
Amelia snorted at his words. “And I’m sure you’re doing this purely out of kindness and haven’t already considered the benefits of me owing you a favor should I except.”
“Of course I have,” Sebastian replied with a wry grin.
Daenerys glanced at him with exasperation, “You don't have to decide now, but time is not your ally. The longer you remain here, the more vulnerable you become.”
A shiver crawled down Amelia’s spine. She could see the truth in Daenerys’ eyes. That’s why she was so frustrated. She never had to depend on anyone, never had to admit that she wasn’t capable of finding a solution on her own.
“I’ll consider it.” She replied, staring intently at the still form of her mother.
"Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.” Daenerys turned away, her garments softly swaying against the tiled floor as she headed toward the exit.
Sebastian’s eyes lingered on Amelia a moment longer, a parting remark lingering on his lips. He closed them with a sigh, deciding to leave in silence.
Amelia turned her gaze back to the babe in her arms. She imagined a future that was stolen from her. Little Susan, dancing with Harrison to a tune on the wizarding wireless. Margery, helping Susan dress and prepare for a Yule celebration ball as they laughed with excitement. A Christmas Eve, their little family joined around the fire, Susan holding a new brother or sister in her arms as she promised to be the best big sister in the world.
It was a beautiful dream, but tears threatened to fall once more as the painful reality, cruel and unforgiving, shattered her illusion.
She tightened her grip around Susan as she made a decision, not for herself, but for the little girl in her arms who had already lost more than she would ever know. Her pride be damned, she would swallow this bitter potion to guarantee Susan’s safety.
Amelia rose from her seat, Susan’s tiny fingers gripping her robes at the sudden movement. She hurried out the door, moving swiftly through the halls with a single purpose. Turning a corner she found them about to descend a set of stairs.
“Wait!” She called out.
Several mediwitches and wizards glanced up from their work, curious at the disturbance in the otherwise quiet evening.
Daenerys and Sebastian looked back as Amelia hurried towards them, slightly out of breath and boots clacking against the hard floor. She stopped close, looking Daenerys directly in her striking, amethyst eyes.
Amelia’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Do you promise to help me keep Susan safe? If we go with you, can you truly agree to do everything in your power to shield her from harm?”
Daenerys held her gaze, unyielding and certain in her reply. “I swear it. You will have all the protections I can afford to you.”
“Then I agree,” Amelia sighed, allowing some her tension to ease as she made her choice.
Sebastian let out a slow breath, his expression shifting to one of genuine relief. Daenerys inclined her head, a small, victorious smile ghosting over her lips.
“You are making the right choice,” Daenerys said. “I promise you will not regret this, Amelia.”
Amelia was still hesitant to rely on them, but she could weather the consequences and stand firm to protect the last of her family.
DMLE
Crouch stood at the head of the large table in the briefing room. His grim yet determined face peered over the notes and reports of Death Eater activity littered about its surface. Some of those reports contained details on the Bones attack that had just happened a few weeks prior. His fingers tapped a quick, sharp rhythm against the wood, a stark metronome in the heavy silence.
Gone was the air of excitement when the raids first began; it had been replaced with anxious uncertainty. They had struck hard against Voldemort and his followers, but recently, what were framed as simple missions, turned into dangerous encounters, resulting in several Aurors’ untimely end. The room seemed to suffocate under the weight of loss.
“Potter, Black,” Crouch barked, his voice cracking through the air like a whip. “You’re joining Macallan’s squad. Creighton, come tell us what you know.”
Evonne rose from her seat against the dull, white wall, her usual confident demeanor stiff and reserved. She cleared her throat as she unfurled a map of a manor and the surrounding land and placed it on the table, the parchment’s edges curled and brittle from repeated handling.
“The location is an old abandoned home that belonged to the Ryswell family before they went extinct. We were tipped off by a source that they’ve been using it as a base of operations since early February. We’ve been monitoring it for three weeks now.”
“Notable faces?” Sirius questioned. He portrayed a calm front that was betrayed by fingers picking at the wand holster around his wrist, the leather worn smooth from habit.
“Not many, just bottom feeders and hanger-ons mostly,” Evonne said, her eyes remaining glued to the map. “Though Amycus and Alecto Carrow are frequent visitors, so we suspect they might be using it to hold and torture muggles and muggleborns given the rumors surrounding them.”
“So there’s a good chance we run into trouble. Are we sure we have a big enough squad for this?” James questioned, rare concern slipping into his voice. His brow furrowed, eyes darting over the ink-smeared lines of the map, as if the answers might be hidden in the smudges.
“I handpicked this squad myself Potter,” Macallan finally piped up. The grizzled old Auror spoke assuredly, though everyone wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince them or himself. “Between the ten of us we’ll have plenty of fire power should things go tits up. But according to Evonne here, it’s mostly low dregs beside the siblings. That right?”
“Correct. My team has been keeping a close eye on the place and hasn’t reported seeing anything you shouldn’t be able to handle.” Evonne, once again avoiding eye contact, pointed at the map with her wand. Her hand hovered, and Sirius caught the slight tremor in her fingers. “Here’s where you’ll portkey in, just south of the manor. We’ve set up a perimeter around the area so you shouldn’t have to worry about an unwanted welcome.” She reached into the folds of her robes and procured an item. “Take this.”
She handed Macallan a pocket watch attached to a gold chain. The metal glinted under the bright lights, a cold, unfeeling promise of safety. Some of the lesser experienced Aurors gazed at the watch as if it held their salvation.
“You open that once the manor is secure and you’ll be able to contact us to assist with search and rescue if it’s required.”
Crouch peered over the squadron as hushed murmurs broke out and tension threatened to coil around each of them like a noose. His knuckles pressing against the edge of the table, and his stare cut through the room like a blade.
“Right, operation begins at 21:00. Get in, get out. And remember, lethal is authorized. Dismissed.”
Sirius pulled James to a secluded corner and spoke in hushed tones.
“I don’t like this Prongs. We know at least two higher ranking members use this place, but we aren’t expecting major trouble? Something doesn’t feel right,” Sirius whispered as he stared at the doorway Evonne had just left through.
“I know, it sounds too easy. You’d think they would at least send Mad-Eye with us. Maybe Bones or Shacklebolt, given the recent troubles. Besides us, Macallan and Shores are the only other experienced wands we’re bringing.” James sighed, then lowered his voice even further. “Did you notice Evonne? She looked like she was attending a funeral rather than a mission briefing. You think the recent pressure on her squad is getting to her? I hear Crouch is about ready to throw her team to the wolves and blame their bad intel on the recent Auror deaths.”
“I don’t know. Maybe, but… I’m just not sure.” Sirius swept a rebellious strand of hair out of his face then slung his arm around James, leading them toward the door and opting for a more jovial attitude to break the unpleasant mood that had settled over them. “We’ll just have to watch each other’s backs as we always have. I say we get ourselves ready to hunt some Death Eaters and give the Dark Bugger a good ole kick in his proverbial stones by thinning his ranks again!”
Together they left the briefing room behind them, though they weren’t eager to reach their next destination. Neither would admit it, but for once they both wondered if the famed duo of Prongs and Padfoot would be enough to win the day.
Ryswell Manor
The world spun, a whirlwind of color and force, before gravity took hold. Sirius hit the ground in a crouch, wand drawn, boots crunching against the frostbitten earth. Nine Aurors materialized around him in a staggered formation, breaths fogging in the frigid March air. The old Ryswell manor loomed ahead—its skeletal frame half-eaten by time, windows dark, and walls draped in creeping ivy.
“Stay sharp,” Macallan hissed, his voice low but firm. “Shields up.”
A ripple of magic spread as protective charms shimmered to life around the group. James stepped into formation beside Sirius, his expression tight but resolute. His wand pulsed with a faint blue glow, a preparatory charm ready at his lips.
“Something’s wrong,” James murmured, eyes darting over the mist-cloaked grounds. “Too quiet.”
“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, his fingers twitching. “Where’s the perimeter team?”
As if in answer, shadows shifted among the trees, and suddenly the night erupted in a hailstorm of green and red light.
“Ambush!” Macallan bellowed, but his voice was swallowed by the roar of curses.
A jet of sickly green light whizzed past Sirius’ ear, the spell’s heat prickling his skin. The scent of singed hair burned his nostrils, a sharp reminder of how close death had just passed him by.
Sirius dove forward, his wand a blur. “Protego!” A shimmering shield deflected a stunner back into the dark, rewarded by a pained grunt.
James was already moving, his instincts razor-sharp. “Expecto Patronum!” he cried. His stag burst forth, silver and magnificent, barreling through the chaos. It soared into the night, a desperate call for aid sent to the only person who could turn the tide.
Death Eaters poured from the ruins and the treeline, their black robes merging with the night. The air was thick with the tang of ozone and the pungent burn of dark magic. One of the younger Aurors, Shaw, was struck by a Blasting Curse—his body lifted off the ground, ragdoll-like, before crashing into a twisted heap against a tree.
“Shaw’s down!” Shores yelled, firing off a rapid volley of stunning spells.
“Shit!” Macallan cursed. Fumbling to pull the pocket watch from his robes. He finally found it and flipped it open, bringing it to his mouth.
“Ambush, I repeat Ambush! Send help!” He waited a beat and a couple Aurors chanced a glance in his direction. Nothing happened. There was no response, no flash of light, no hint that their message had been received.
“Fuckers!” He swore as he threw the forsaken item on the ground.
Sirius snarled, “Push forward! They’re trying to box us in!” He whipped his wand in a tight arc, and a plume of blue fire roared to life, searing a path through the underbrush and scattering their attackers.
James pressed forward, his wand movements fluid and decisive. “Incarcerous!” Ropes shot from his wand, entangling a Death Eater who stumbled, falling hard. Without missing a beat, James transfigured the ground beneath another’s feet. Hands of stone erupted from the dirt, grasping and holding their target in place.
“Nice one!” Sirius shouted, sidestepping a slashing hex. He sent back a Blasting Curse, bricks and dust exploding as part of the manor’s outer walls crumbled.
But then, the shadows coalesced as a the Death Eaters withdrew, parting like a dark tide to reveal a figure moving through them—pale, spectral, and radiating cold malice.
Lord Voldemort.
Silence seemed to blanket the battlefield, a suffocating pause as he surveyed the scene. His crimson eyes gleamed, serpentine nostrils flaring with something akin to amusement.
“Well, well. How unexpected,” he drawled, his voice smooth and poisonous. “Potter and Black are mine. Kill the rest.”
Macallan, battle-worn but unyielding, stepped forward, wand aloft. “Push him back! Together!”
The Aurors rallied. Spells burst forth, a rainbow of curses and hexes. But Voldemort moved through them with eerie grace, his wand flicking, barely more than a twitch of his wrist. Shields materialized, curses unraveled, and Macallan—brave, brash Macallan—was struck by a flash of green light. His body crumpled, lifeless.
“Damn it!” James grit his teeth, pushing the grief aside. “Sirius, on me!”
The pair shifted into sync, a rhythm honed through years of friendship and battle. Sirius moved in tight arcs, a duelist’s precision, while James brought the fury of raw magic. The earth rumbled as James transfigured the dirt into jagged spikes, forcing Voldemort to glide back, robes whispering against the ground.
Voldemort smirked. “Impressive, Potter.”
He retaliated. “Serpens Fulminis.” Blue bolts hissed across the earth as snakes of lightning slithered and struck. Sirius conjured a large shield, a roaring thunder rang throughout the air as lightning met metal. James twisted his wand, and a massive stone fist erupted from the ground, crashing down toward their foe.
With a flick, Voldemort shattered it into dust.
Aurors fell around them—Shores, struck by a bone-crushing curse, another enveloped in shadows and silence. The Death Eaters pressed in, a tightening noose, but Sirius and James held their ground. Blood dripped from a cut on Sirius’ brow, mingling with the dirt on his skin.
“Any moment now, right?” Sirius panted, deflecting a hex back toward the treeline.
“He’ll come,” James replied, eyes never leaving Voldemort. “He has to.”
Voldemort’s expression soured. “Enough.”
He thrust his wand forward, and the ground beneath them buckled. James stumbled, his shield faltering. Sirius gritted his teeth, sending a Reductor Curse that exploded against Voldemort’s shimmering barrier.
“You have proven yourselves worthy. Join me, and I will count you both among my inner circle. It would be a shame for me to rid the world of such talents, so young.”
“Go fuck yourself you snake faced bastard!” James yelled with as much force as he could muster as he fought the exhaustion that threatened to overcome him.
Voldemort hissed in response to his outburst, “How foolish. You will die tonight. I saw your pathetic little charm earlier. A desperate plea for Dumbledore, yes?” He chuckled. “And where is the great Albus Dumbledore? He will not come. He fears me; knows he’s grown too old and I, more powerful than he could ever imagine.”
“Dumbledore does not fear you!” James responded between gasps of breath. “You are the one who fears him. He will come.”
Voldemort’s face contorted in rage as anger burned in his bright, crimson eyes.
“I fear no one. And even if you’re precious Dumbledore comes for you, it will be too late.”
He raised his wand as magic materialized around him. His Death Eaters shouting their praise for their lord and taunts for his enemies.
“Let all know the power of Lord Voldemort!” He roared, readying his spell.
James and Sirius shared a glance and nodded at one another, their unspoken agreement clear. If this was to be their last stand, they would not cower in fear. They would face it bravely, with all of their strength.
As they gathered their own magic ready to meet Voldemort’s challenge, a bright light erupted and a phoenix’s cry echoed, pure and piercing. Flames burst into being, and from them stepped Albus Dumbledore—calm, unyielding, a beacon of light amidst the carnage.
Voldemort’s gaze hardened and he let loose a frustrated cry, hurling his spell towards the elder wizard. Dumbledore’s blue eyes hummed with energy as he unleashed his own spell. Their magic collided in a titanic clash, sparking and streaking across the grounds. Death Eaters and Aurors alike raised their shields to spare them from the destruction.
Neither wizard was giving ground in their deadly struggle as the wind grew violent in response to their power. Voldemort, seeing the futility and not wanting to risk reinforcements arriving, ended their engagement with a slash of his wand.
“Soon old man, your time will come,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a hiss. “And with your demise, my reign will truly begin.” He raised his wand, shadows swirling around him, and with a thunderclap, he and his followers vanished, leaving behind the wreckage of their ambush.
Silence fell. Sirius dropped to a knee, chest heaving, while James scanned the devastation. Only three other Aurors remained standing, their faces pale, eyes wide.
Dumbledore moved to them, his presence a balm. “You did well,” he said softly as he laid a comforting hand on James. “Let us tend to the wounded, and we will reconvene at the ministry.”
And as the survivors gathered, the bitter taste of betrayal lingered—why had the Death Eaters known they were coming? And how many more traps lay ahead?
......
Back at the DMLE, the lights overhead cast a harsh, sterile glow over the bustling Auror offices. The brightness did nothing to soften the jagged edges of grief and exhaustion etched into the survivors’ faces. The low hum of enchanted lamps thrummed in the silence, accompanied by the soft crinkle of parchment and the muted clinks of vials as the Mediwitch worked. The scent of blood was heavy and the bitter tang of burn paste mingled with the low murmur of voices and the occasional sharp intake of breath from those nursing fresh wounds.
Sirius sat slumped in a wooden chair, his robes torn and smeared with dirt and blood. A shallow cut ran along his jaw, a bead of crimson trailing down his neck, disappearing beneath the grime. His hands, still trembling from adrenaline, clutched a chipped teacup filled with something that smelled faintly of whiskey. The steam curled in lazy tendrils, but he made no move to drink.
James sat beside him, his expression a tight mask of control. His glasses were cracked, one lens a spiderweb of fractures that distorted his left eye. His wand rested across his lap, fingers brushing the worn wood as if seeking comfort. His knuckles were white, the skin around his nails raw and bitten.
The room around them was chaos. Aurors darted back and forth, parchment and potion vials clutched in their hands. A Mediwitch knelt by Ewers, wrapping a splint around his fractured arm. The young Auror’s face was pale, his eyes staring blankly ahead as he muttered under his breath, reciting a incantation from the battle over and over, like a prayer.
Amelia Bones stood near the entrance, her expression a careful blend of control and fury. Her fingers tapping against the hilt of her wand as she spoke in low tones to Kingsley Shacklebolt. The tall Auror nodded, his own face drawn, the deep lines of fatigue visible to all. Occasionally, his gaze flicked to the survivors, lingering on Sirius and James, as if weighing unspoken questions.
Barty Crouch burst into the room, his presence a cold wind through an open window. His robes billowed, pristine despite the soot and blood that stained nearly everyone else. His eyes swept over the room, assessing, dissecting. His lips pressed into a thin line as he strode toward Sirius and James.
“What happened out there?” he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut. “We sent a full squad of trained Aurors, and yet I’m counting barely half that returned.”
Sirius lifted his gaze slowly, the weight of the battle still dragging at his bones. “We were set up.”
“A trap,” James added, his voice hoarse. “They knew we were coming. They were waiting for us.”
“Rubbish.” Crouch’s eyes narrowed. “You had clear orders. A simple raid. The Carrows and a few dregs.”
“It wasn’t just the Carrows,” James said, steel threading through his exhaustion. “Voldemort himself was there.”
The room seemed to still, the chaotic buzz of movement and murmurs fading into silence. All eyes turned to the conversation unfolding at the center of the room.
Crouch’s expression twitched—just a moment, a crack in the stone—but it was enough. “You expect me to believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named decided to involve himself in a skirmish with a handful of Aurors?”
“You think we’re lying?” Sirius growled, a spark reigniting behind his tired eyes. “We were there. We faced him. We barely made it out alive.”
“Enough.” Amelia’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and unwavering. She moved forward, her presence commanding the room. “They sent a Patronus for help. Albus Dumbledore himself had to intervene to save the survivors. If that doesn’t convince you of the severity, I’m not sure what will.”
Crouch’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. “Fine. Write up your reports. I want every detail—every spell cast, every move made.” He shot a look at Evonne Creighton, who stood near the back, half-shadowed by the doorframe. “Creighton, I expect a full analysis on how our intel failed us.”
Evonne’s fingers twitched, her quill digging into the parchment she clutched. “Of course, sir. I’ll begin immediately.”
Dumbledore entered the room, his presence a soft gust that seemed to push back the weight of grief and anger. His robes, though singed at the edges, still held a muted elegance. His blue eyes swept over the room, taking in the survivors, the wounded, the dead.
“James, Sirius, I took the liberty of informing Lily and Marlene of your mostly safe return. Though I have no doubt you are both in store for a slew of questions once you arrive home. Barty,” he greeted, his voice gentle yet unyielding. “If I may have a word.”
Crouch hesitated, then nodded curtly. He followed Dumbledore to a quieter corner, leaving the room to exhale in his absence.
Sirius leaned back in his chair, his eyes slipping shut. “That could’ve gone better.”
James managed a weak chuckle. “Could’ve gone worse.”
“Yeah?” Sirius cracked one eye open. “How?”
“We could be dead.”
Silence hung between them, a fragile thread that neither dared cut. Finally, Sirius huffed, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.
“Yeah. There’s that.”
The door creaked open again, and a new wave of Aurors entered, their expressions hard and wary. They carried the weight of those who had not returned, their absence a specter that moved among the living.
Amelia turned, her voice rising above the din. “Alright, everyone. Reports in by morning. And take care of yourselves. This fight is far from over.”
Hallows Hill
Daenerys sat in the warm study of Hallows Hill, an ancient tome resting on the arm of her chair. She was only half-listening as Sebastian and Cyrus discussed the latest intelligence from the DMLE. The fire crackled gently, and Missy moved through the room, refilling teacups and occasionally offering her own dry commentary on the state of the Ministry.
“It’s not just the raids,” Sebastian was saying, his fingers drumming on the desk. “It’s how they seem to know where the Aurors are going to be. It’s happened too many times to be coincidence.”
Cyrus nodded, his sharp features cast in the amber glow of the hearth. “Amelia voiced the same concerns. The question is, who is leaking this information?”
“Could be any of them,” Sebastian muttered. “Half the DMLE’s under pressure. Crouch is pushing them to the breaking point. It’s no wonder someone might crack.”
Daenerys finally looked up from her book. “We need proof. Accusations without evidence will only cause more chaos. And we cannot afford that now.”
A brief silence fell over them, only broken by the soft clink of porcelain as Missy set down the tea tray. Cyrus looked like he might speak, but before he could, a rush of green flames roared to life in the fireplace.
Sarah Davis stumbled out of the floo, her robes singed and her breath coming in ragged gasps. She clutched baby Tracey tightly to her chest, her knuckles white against the dark fabric of the blanket.
“Sarah?” Daenerys was on her feet in an instant, crossing the room and guiding the woman to a nearby settee. “What happened?”
“They—they came,” Sarah stammered, her voice raw with fear. “Death Eaters. They attacked the home. Victor sent me through the floo before he... before he sealed it.”
Sebastian’s chair scraped against the floor as he rose, his wand already in hand. “How many?”
“Too many,” Sarah sobbed. “He told me to run. To protect Tracey. I don’t know if—if he…”
Cyrus moved with purpose, his expression as unreadable as ever. “We need to move. Now.”
Daenerys turned to Missy, who had already gathered a warm blanket and a calming draught. “Stay with Sarah and Tracey. Keep them safe.”
The young woman nodded solemnly. “I will look after them. I promise.”
Sebastian touched Sarah’s shoulder gently. “We’ll bring him back.”
Cyrus held out his arm. “We’ll side-along. Faster this way.”
Daenerys grasped his forearm, and Sebastian did the same. With a sharp twist, the world folded around them, and they vanished from the safety of Hallows Hill.
The three figures arrived at the property’s edge and looked upon the scene in front of them. The Davis estate was under siege; the unmistakable flashing light of spell fire, visible from outside. They looked at one another then began their mad dash toward the home, and to Victor.
Sebastian was the first to reach the entrance, a spell already on his lips as he joined the fray. Cyrus ran in after him, immediately moving to flank two Death Eaters that had not noticed their arrival yet.
Daenerys was last and watched for a moment as chaos unfolded around her. Victor Davis was dashing around the room like a mad man while dodging spells from the multitude of attackers. He hurled curses and charmed objects to harass the Death Eaters while using everything he could as cover.
Sebastian made his way over to Victor just as he dodged a particularly nasty-looking curse that demolished the bust of some distant ancestor.
That sprung her into action as she called on the ancient magic of the Peverell family.
“Ignis Nigrum!”
A wall of black flames sprung forth, dividing the room and cutting off half of the Death Eaters, giving them a moment of reprieve. Sebastian was still shielding an injured Victor while Cyrus was exchanging spells with a tall, masked figure. Daenerys began moving to help Sebastian when her path was obscured by a pale man with a long, twisted face. He wore a sneer as he spoke.
“How fortunate for me. The Lady Peverell herself has come out to play. So kind of you to save me the trouble of hunting you down.”
Sebastian had educated her on all of Voldemort’s most powerful henchmen, and going by what she knew, the man she currently faced was Antonin Dolohov. One of the most dangerous, second only to Bellatrix Lestrange, perhaps. She knew this would be a good test to see how far she’d come in her dueling. She’d been practicing with Cyrus, Sebastian, and even Amelia as of late, but this was different. This was war.
“Many men have hunted me before; yet here I stand, while they lie in Death’s embrace.”
His sneer was quickly replaced by a cold and focused countenance. Daenerys prepared herself, shifting her stance slightly to the side as her right foot slid forward. She raised her wand in front of her, ready to counter whatever the wizard threw first.
Dolohov flung his wand into action as she raised her shield. The curse rattled her teeth as she blocked it, sending a sting down her arm. She quickly spun to the side of his follow-up curse and sent back one of her own, which he easily deflected into the wooden column behind him, shattering it in half.
On they went, dodging, blocking, and countering each other as the battle continued around them.
Some of the Death Eaters that had been walled off by the flames had made their way back into the fight, but none of them interfered with their duel. She could only hope that the others would be able to hold their ground for now. She couldn’t spare a moment to check on them because Dolohov required all her attention.
“Diffendo,” she yelled, watching the severing charm fly toward him.
He batted it away and slashed his wand, sending a streak of purple flames through the air. Daenerys threw herself to the side as a chair behind her was split in half, leaving an ugly char on either side.
Rising from the floor, she directed her wand and left hand toward the large chandelier hanging above Dolohov. The metal fixture groaned under the weight of her magic, its anchor cracking and splintering against the ceiling. With a growl and sharp pull of her arms, she wrenched it free, sending it plummeting downward to crush him beneath its weight.
Dolohov’s eyes widened. With a desperate cry, he slashed his wand upward. “Depulso!”
The chandelier’s descent halted abruptly, metal and crystal shrieking against the force of his spell. It veered off course, hurtling across the room and crashing into a suit of armor, shattering both into twisted wreckage.
Her breathing became labored, and her limbs felt heavier with each step. Sweat dripped down her temple, stinging her eyes. She blinked it away, unwilling to show weakness.
But she was beginning to tire and had come to a dreadful conclusion. He was better than her. His control was more precise. His power was impressive. And his movements were polished with little waste. Everything he did had a purpose. He chained spells together, poking at her for openings, and every twist or turn was accompanied by the wand movements for his next spell.
A quick glance to the side showed Cyrus and Sebastian standing protectively over Victor, their faces masks of concentration as they fought off a group of Death Eaters. She couldn’t let them down. Not now.
There was only one way to tip the scales back in her favor. What she lacked in finesse, she made up for in raw power. While she preferred not having to resort to some of her family’s more volatile magic until she had more control, she didn’t have a choice if they were going to survive. She steeled herself, damp hair sticking to her brow as she held her wand in both hands and raised it above her head, pointed at Dolohov.
“Infernum Draconis!”
The black flames she had summoned earlier answered her call. They slithered across the scorched floors, their heat a pulsing wave against her skin. The flames coiled at the tip of her wand, shadows dancing wildly in their wake as if the darkness itself had come alive.
Everyone had paused their own battle to look on in awe. Even Dolohov’s cool confidence was replaced with a look of fear as the flames merged, shaping into the maw of a fiery black dragon looming overhead, a messenger of death itself.
She sent the beast forth and it opened its jaws, preparing to devour all in its path. Dolohov quickly turned on his heel and disappeared just as it crashed down where he once stood in a burst of shadowy fire.
Her knees threatened to buckle as she struggled to rein in the flames. Her vision wavered, dark spots dancing at the edges as she channeled every ounce of control she had into the spell.
She brought her hands down in front of her, wrestling to subjugate the flames that threatened to break free from her hold as they began flowing back towards her. Cyrus, Sebastian, and Victor, recovering from their stupor, realized what was about to happen. They swiftly moved out of the way, while the remaining Death Eaters were too distracted by the display of power.
Daenerys continued fighting the spell, her breathing ragged and sweating profusely as she gathered the last of the black flames into a sphere before her. All was still for a moment; then she pushed out her hands and the flames surged ahead toward the last of her foes. Some were smart enough to follow Dolohov’s lead and apparate away. Those that didn’t, were devoured by the black flame and crumbled to ash.
As the fire dissipated, Daenerys fell to her knees. She planted her trembling hands on the marble floor while gasping for breath as her strength waned.
Sebastian was supporting a limping Victor who was holding a bloody hand over a wound to his mid-section. Cyrus walked forward, helping Daenerys to her feet as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her.
“That was quite an impressive display of magic, Lady Peverell,” he said in a rare display of respect.
She managed a weak smile. “It was a gamble. I almost lost control at the end.” She paused, still out of breath while looking at the scorched floors and walls covered in ash. “I’m sorry about your home Victor.”
Victor tried to grin which came off more as a grimace due to the pain. “Don’t worry about it. You saved my life and my family is safe. That’s all that matters. Homes can be rebuilt.”
“Still, I’ll certainly help pay for repairs.”
“Perhaps we should discuss what we’re going to tell Amelia and the Aurors before we entertain talks of rebuilding,” Cyrus said, ever the pragmatic thinker. “This level of destruction and your injuries aren’t going to simply be explained away. The Aurors will need to know what happened, but I doubt Lady Peverell wants everyone to know the full extent of what she is capable of.”
“I mean Dolohov was here and he is known to be powerful in his own right. Can’t we just say he used some unknown spell and caused all of this,” asked Sebastian.
“I guess it’s as good an explanation we can give without disclosing secrets,” Victor agreed.
“Very well,” Cyrus said. “Let’s take a moment when we arrive at Hallows Hill and get Victor treated. Then we can get our account of the event in order before alerting Amelia. She probably won’t buy it, but she won’t ask questions either and she can help reinforce our narrative.” He turned back to Daenerys, “Can you side along?”
“Yes,” she nodded.
A swath of destruction and carnage lay around them, the charred remains of a battle hard-won. As the battered and tired party vanished with a faint pop, the wind swept through the ruins, scattering ash and embers. It carried with it a whisper of warning; this was only the beginning.