PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
St Mungo's had never been as crammed as that first week of November 1981.
Bodies upon bodies, not every last one able to be saved. Healers who suffered from restless nights and went on without a break. Smoke still drew from the burned-down Potter manor. Muggle remains were cleared from the streets and Aurors were not yet done obliviating muggles as Friday arrived. New bodies filled the once solid grounds of England every hour. And it was horribly quiet.
No one knew whether it was a blessing or a curse, that lunatics disappearance, but loss soaked through every soul.
Streets were now empty, destroyed, and left abandoned. After the excitement of his emptiness faded, the grief set in. Grief and frustration. Funeral after funeral.
One that had been least attended was Sirius Black's funeral. It was a rainy evening and only a pair had been huddled around the grave. James Potter and Mary Mcdonald's. Numbly, they gazed at the stone, engraved with an Italic font. James glanced further, spotting Marlene's grave, then Dorcas' grave, with dead flowers decorating it, then Remus and Lilys, nearby one another as they had always been. Beside Lily's gravestone, engraved with gorgeous lilies, stood a small cross, a pair of glasses resting upon it.
Would they have been rid of him earlier if they had fought harder? If they had tried more, would they have lost less?
Past articles of death eaters that had gone missing were used to scatter and scour England. Brittain as a whole. Familiar, infamous names like Regulus Black would make head articles again, reminding everyone of his obscure disappearance and empty casket. They dug holes in the earth and tracked seas to be left with nothing. Not a trace of Regulus Black. Death eaters like Peter Pettigrew were easier to fish out. Peter Pettigrew; The Gryffindor Traitor, a murderer and a rat.
Death eaters all over Britain had been picked up. None were allowed to get away. Most were lynched apart by locals, anger fresh in their blood. And rightly so. Others were being taken to Azkaban, and read their indictments in public display. They were placed in cages like animals in an exhibition. Many would not even survive a day. Within that week, many death eaters got the killing curse sent at them.
5 death eaters dead.
Then 17.
Then 20.
And it was not only death eaters who were estranged from society. People who are associated with death eaters, families of death eaters, and aspiring death eaters. Anyone who saw nothing wrong with Voldemort's rule would suffer.
One death eater they were particularly happy to ridicule was Bellatrix Lestrange. She, alongside her sister, Narcissa, had been taken into Diagon Alley. A couple of days before, a Sunday, Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange had been apprehended, in the middle of making their escape out of Brittain. They could not make it past their indictment before killing curses had been blasted at them. Then Wednesday they found Bellatrix. In Diagon alley, they were put upon a stage, booed at and taunted. They had bound Bellatrix to a pole, making a spectacle out of her.
Whilst Bellatrix was too proud to accept her defeat, they had attached Narcissa to the stage itself with a nasty sticking charm. The fragile woman kept quiet, readying herself for whatever was about to happen. They had cruisiod her three times in total, leaving her barely functioning. She prayed quietly, even if she had never before, for her son. For Draco. She had no idea if he was safe, at all. All she remembered was her mother, Druella, taking him in. But as she had been taken because of Lucius, she feared her parents not to be any safer.
An enraged wizard yanked her head back abruptly, causing her to make a pained sound. They gripped onto her blonde hair tightly, holding a pair of clippers. The crowd around them cheered the wizard on, watching her beautiful hair drop to the stage and whatever was beneath it. After no longer than five minutes, she looked horrid. Hair chopped off uneven with various cuts covering her scalp from the rough hold the wizard had on her. Her neck was bruised and she gagged as pieces of hair covered her mouth and tongue.
She remembered the wizard, as Lucius had taken the life of his youngest son.
She closed her eyes tightly as she felt him near her face, ready to be hit. "That's for Ernie, you sick bitch." He spat at her, pushing her back to the stage.
Bellatrix watched as they tortured her sister, knowing she would be punished far worse. She looked at the crowd, hearing multiple execrates. A witch held her wand to the wooden stakes built around Bellatrix. Murmuring got louder and Narcissa looked up. Bellatrix's expression was stoic, firmly believing she was dying for the right cause. "No–" Narcissa gasped, the wizards dragging her off of the stage as the witch lighted the stakes surrounding Bellatrix. "NO" she shouted once more, but no one listened.
They held her tightly as she watched the stakes catch fire, burning the ends of Bellatrix's long, black dress. She did not flinch once. Instead, she laughed. The crowd rummage quieted and Bellatrix laughed louder. The wizards holding Narcissa watched puzzled as Bellatrix screamed with laughter.
"The dark lord will rise again!" She screeched loudly, the crowd boiling with fury.
Crouch Snr, who had been questioned, stepped forward in the crowd, looking up at her, "Add more fire," He murmured quietly. "And you Crouch," She looked down at him, gripping onto the pole, "Oh, he'll come for you first." Crouch looked up at her, breathless.
Bartimus Crouch Jnr. had been assassinated nights before. According to Crouch Snr, Bellatrix and Barty had been torturing order members into insanity. The order members had now been in St. Mungos, along with others. Narcissa watched her sister, brows furrowed.
She watched as they added more fire, slipping from her capturers. "Hey!" The wizard shouted, but only got ahold of her heel. "Bella!" Narcissa cried out, reaching for her sister. "He will come for you all! Punish YOU ALL," Her laughter-filled shrieks turned into pained screams as the fire reached beyond her skin. Narcissa gasped at the pain that filled her arm as she tugged at the remains of Bellatrix's dress. "Please– stop this!" and once again, she was tugged away by the wizards, left to watch her sister burn to death involuntary.
The crowd was filled with an uncomfortable silence.
Everyone left Diagon alley, Bellatrix's screams still bouncing off of the walls.
Then it was quiet once more.
Abandoned and destroyed.
Some are still haunted by the mere thought of Voldemort's return.
He was not dead, that everyone was sure of. He was gone. Hiding. Merely waiting for an opportunity to rise once again. Ruin everything once more.