56.Scorched Spirit

April 30th 1994 Saturday (127 days later) 

Juno Black

The last few months had been fruitful. They had managed to convince Amelia Bones to teach them Apparition and take the official exam, though it would take until summer for their license to come. The first basilisk scale battle robes were finally finished last month, though it was estimated that Juno and Harry would outgrow them in less than a year. It was of no matter; she would just commission a new set by then.

“Mum wants a double premium for the next set,” Nymphadora had said when delivering the package. “Working the hide and the scale was far harder than she expected—it requires three months of preparation with potions, and normal needles can’t pierce it.”

“Gold is no issue.” Juno had hesitated for a moment before flicking a pouch with another two hundred galleons to her cousin.

Nymphadora had carefully untied the string and blinked at the galleons inside. “What’s this for?”

“For the silence and discretion of Aunt Andromeda. Don’t refuse—I really can’t trust anyone else. It’s not a matter of money, but interests.”

All the other tailors and battle-robe makers had divided loyalties. They were part of factions or families, and no matter how independent they touted themselves to be, Juno knew the appearance of a rare material like a thousand-year-old basilisk’s scales and hide would raise questions. It might easily see her cornered by her enemies. 

A basilisk’s carcass was a treasure trove that many would be all too eager to obtain. Coveting the heart, gallbladder, scales, and other organs was normal, but it was the venom, bones, and fangs that were the most valuable. Even House Black’s personal robewright could not be truly trusted—Rinsley was originally affiliated with House Crabbe, and his business was gifted as dowry for the marriage of her great-grandfather Pollux with Irma Crabbe.

Needless to say, whatever Juno ordered or brought to Rinsley would find its way to Crabbe’s desk—and from there to Lucius Malfoy.

Her alliance with the Malfoys was based on convenience, not trust. Draco had proven himself loyal enough, but Narcissa and Lucius were different. They were older, far more set in their ways, and proud of what they had achieved. They would not bend for her, not unless it suited them… or she made them bend. 

So, Juno was forced to choose to trust her other aunt. The one spoken of only in whispers after she had eloped with a Muggle. It was a Muggle-born wizard, in truth, but that was scarcely any different in the eyes of many, and the higher society in Magical Britain rarely cared for details that did not suit them. Aunt Andromeda had rebuffed Dumbledore’s offer for help, too, and had risen from the mud entirely by her own efforts. 

Truth be told, Juno really, really wanted to draw the Tonks family by her side. Her aunt was capable, and so was her Muggle-born husband. Both their children were talented and hardworking and had awoken the rare talent of Metamorphmagus. By all rights, they should have been under her command. 

But they weren’t. Her own parents had disowned her after the elopement, but it would have never held any weight if Arcturus had not agreed. Too old, too stubborn, the lot of them. Yet they had all perished one way or another, while the Tonks family had not only survived but thrived. 

Alas, now was not the time. Overtures would slowly be made to Andromeda once Juno dealt with her mother.

Sighing, she focused on the wand in her grasp and called upon her magic. Eviscera. Flipendo. 

Spells fluttered across the Room of Requirement as Harry and Juno practised. Today, they had settled for something lighter than their usual. Knockback Jinxes streaked at the dummies, striking them dead centre. The sheer strength of the spells made Juno’s hair stand on end, but the dummies only swayed back lightly. Normal dummies would have exploded or been slammed into the stone wall behind. These were different, made from iron and weighing over three hundred pounds, with a circular base of lead.

It was a neat tactic that Harry had dug out from some old, dusty training manual, meant to push the potential output of spells to the absolute limit. Pure iron was spell-resistant; it was incredibly difficult to damage or move the dummy, sheer weight notwithstanding. At first, Juno barely managed to move it, but now she could push it back over three inches with a single spell if she tried hard.

Four, if she vocalised the Knockback Jinx.

Her eyes flicked to Harry’s dummy. Each of his Knockback Jinxes pushed his dummy twice as far as hers. His gaze was set on his target, face scrunched up in focus. His stance was perfect, his wand motions impeccable, and each cast came swifter than the last, and his hands were soon blurring.

Morgana, she had trained hard, harder than ever before, but her friend was still ahead. Somehow, he was still pouring in more effort. How could a witch ever compete against… such a machine?! 

It stung.

She had long known that she was inferior to Harry. But deep down, Juno was unwilling. The last summer had seen her training hard, squeezing herself to the brink every day, body, mind, and magic, yet the gap between them had only widened.

Why?

Why did she always have to be second?

The feeling was like a hot coal stuffed in her stomach. It was not anger, but just unwillingness. And perhaps a sliver of pride that still lingered despite being thoroughly trashed by Harry so many times.

Then, her gaze settled on how sweat matted his mess of black hair and ran down his neck, and his shirt clung to his body, revealing a well-sculpted physique. Broad shoulders, lean but muscled arms, and a toned stomach—every part she spied was pleasing to the eye.

Swallowing, Juno forced herself to look away and clear her mind. It was harder than usual.

She sank her mind into the casting, and her wand erupted into motion. Faster. It was not enough. It was never enough. Soon enough, exhaustion seeped in. Concentrating, Juno squeezed the last ounce of magic, just enough to dip her reserve but not cross into exhaustion, and intoned, “Eviscera!”

The pale spell splashed against the weighted dummy and knocked it back. Four and a half inches, and the dent was deeper, too. Curses suited her the best, after all. A smile crept to her face, but once she glanced at her friend, it wilted.

Harry had yet to show any signs of slowing down. His spells were like a hailstorm, raining down on the iron dummy relentlessly. Soon enough, it was pushed into the wall. A whole ten minutes passed before he finally halted, chest heaving. Exhaustion weighed on her limbs, but Juno felt lighter. The gap had not widened in the last month. As discouraging as it was, training with Harry was the best. Just his presence alone drove her further than she could ever do on her own. 

Still, the moment she relaxed, Harry would pull ahead again.

Harry Potter was too good a wizard. Too dangerous. Juno… felt lacking in comparison. It was a bitter feeling that made her swallow her words each time she thought about confessing her feelings. That and indecisiveness. Adolescence was the most important stage of growth for any witch or wizard. A day of practice between eleven and seventeen was equivalent to over a month of training for an older wizard. Of course, it was not a simple matter of dishing out spells. The sheer increase in quantity of magic by itself was of little worth.

What Juno and Harry pursued was quality. Repeated exhaustion and refining of intent were like forging a weapon. Turning spells into something as intimate and ingrained as breathing. Mastering intent and honing your mind to the limit. Pushing your control over magic to the point where it felt as natural and easy to wield as if it were a limb. Ancient wizards had called it ‘honing the blade’ or ‘sharpening the axe’. A day, a week, or even a month of such practice would see you pull one step ahead of your peers. But the months easily turned to years, and a single step could become an uncrossable chasm—like the one that now existed between Juno and the rest of her year-mates.

Any foolish distractions now might lead to regret later. Juno knew this all too well—her first two years had been half-wasted by her contentment and arrogance, and Harry, eleven months younger, had not only caught up to her but already surpassed her. Yet she could never be as focused on this one thing as her friend. Her revenge and House Black’s glory weighed on her shoulders, and it was not a burden she could set aside.

She was unwilling.

Yet… Juno could not stop thinking about it. Ever since last Yule, the realisation had lodged in her mind like a buzzing bee that could be neither ignored nor removed. She liked Harry Potter—not as a friend, but as more. 

Harry was by her side now. That much was true. But would that always remain the case?

“Something on your mind?” Harry’s breathless voice almost made her jump.

“Nothing,” Juno lied, her voice coming half a pitch higher than she intended.

His green eyes flickered at her, full of concern. “You’ve been spacing out a lot more since the new year came around. You no longer give your all when fighting me, too.” 

Of course, he had noticed. Harry was always attentive to her. So much for ignoring the intrusive thoughts and keeping everything the same.

Smoothening the non-existent wrinkles in her training robe, she just pushed everything away in a corner of her mind. 

“Just thinking about the future,” she murmured. “If Aunt Narcissa is to be trusted, Voldemort should return… soon—before the end of the school year. Uncle Lucius has already offered a pretext and made a trip to the continent.”

Harry let out a long, weary sigh from behind the towel that wiped the sweat off his face.

“It has to be true, then,” he said, voice growing grim. “Professor Bones did mention Dumbledore is visiting some ‘friends’ on the continent—probably trying to verify whether the Dark Lord is back. Or maybe try to stop him, but I wouldn’t count on it. This is it. We have to be careful and lie low now.”

Juno took a deep, shuddering breath. “Of course. But that doesn’t mean we’ll cower at Voldemort’s name like the rest of the sheep.”

“I take it you’re still going, then?”

“I already put so much effort into this,” Juno said. “Besides, even if the Dark Lord returns, he’s far away—in the Balkans—and will scarcely put so much effort into putting Skeeter to use.”

Her eyes flicked to the newspaper tossed on the nearby desk. 

Grimsby and Selwyn Officially Repudiate Debts. A Last-Ditch Retreat or a Strategic Collapse?

By our newest special correspondent, Kateris Tree

It was Skeeter, under a pseudonym. The beetle Animagus knew when she was outmatched, and obediently wrote whatever Juno dictated, including the official apology for the earlier slander, posted on the third day of the new year. It barely made it to the third page, and few probably noticed it, but Juno’s anger was finally appeased, and for those who read, it was the first sign that House Black was not to be trifled with. As the Lady Black, she disdained writing slander and sensationalism, so she merely… brought to light uncomfortable truths. Only those that benefited her, of course. A part of her was delighted to see Skeeter’s frustration with honest, truthful reporting, but she had a knack for it. 

And this article was from a week ago, aiming to coerce the Grimsby family to return their debts to House Black, while using Selwyn owing too much to the goblins as a public distraction. They had not made a payment in over a year, yet dared to swagger around and expand their estates blatantly.

“Wally, bring us breakfast,” she commanded after glancing at the Victorian clock on the wall. It was half past nine, the end of the meal time—too late to go back, wash off the sweat, and eat with their friends.

The Room was a marvel of magic and incredibly handy, where you could combine any room you could imagine, and there was no limit to the size of it. None that they could ever reach. The two sat at an empty table to the side, and plates with toast, bacon, sausages, eggs, and grilled mushrooms dipped into onion sauce popped into existence. With a few cleaning and drying spells, they were no longer reeking of sweat, though it couldn’t compare to a proper shower. 

This wasn’t the first time Harry and Juno ate together here, though they usually had their meals with their friends in the Great Hall. 

Truth be told, Juno did not miss the hubbub of the Great Hall, and being alone with Harry was… nice.

“I still can’t believe you managed to handle Skeeter so easily,” he said after a mouthful of bacon, exasperated. 

Juno’s lips thinned. “She would have never dared to write such slander if Cassiopeia or Arcturus were alive. Have you ever seen her write badly against Abbott, Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn, Greengrass, Carrow, or any other of the Twenty-Eight?”

“I haven’t,” he murmured, rubbing his chin. “Hang on. Doesn’t this mean Skeeter only picks on those who can’t or won’t fight back?”

“Exactly. Like most wizards and witches, Skeeter is a coward without a shred of principle. Scum like her would mistake your kindness for weakness. When I told her to do honest reporting, she all but burst into tears.” 

“I can only imagine—” Harry’s chuckle turned into a yawn. “Anyway, do you need my help in Hogsmeade?”

“No,” Juno said as she swept clean the last of her scrambled eggs. “If you show by my side on House Black’s business, people might… misunderstand. I have to handle it on my own.”

To prove that she could manage her own House’s matters alone. It’s not that Juno did not desire Harry’s help—she did. But relying on him for everything made her feel undeserving of her station. Weak. Feeble. A new desire arose in her chest; a desire to show that she could stand by Harry’s side. Harry did not consider her weak, of course, but that was his kindness speaking.

If she voiced her worries, he would probably give her that lop-sided grin of his and say, “There’s nothing to prove.”

But Juno wanted to prove her worth to herself. She was not some damsel to be saved, but Harry’s equal. 

“Alright, then,” Harry said after a moment. “I’ll do more training and take a nice nap after, I suppose. Do you want me to leave Nyx with you?”

“No need, I have Hestia and Flora to cover me. I’ve enchanted a portkey just in case, too.”

“Take care, then.” Harry gave her an encouraging nod and moved to the corner of the Room where the weights lay sprawled. Bars, dumbbells, circular iron plates, benches, and other Muggle contraptions that Juno did not know the name of.

Harry had started these five months prior, after a suspicious chat with Weasley, but was already pretty good at ‘building strength’. Even now, the iron weights looped around the bar looked a bit too much.

Was this something a human could lift?

Juno had tried these exercises, but struggled to lift one of Harry’s dumbbells with both hands, despite being as strong as an adult. Still, there was something… almost magical in the way that Harry’s face grew taut in exertion as he focused on it. 

She was tempted to remain and keep watching. Reluctantly, she tore her gaze off and left for the common room. 

Thirty minutes and one hot shower later, she had passed Merula’s grumpy check-up and was already on the way to Hogsmeade, flanked by Hestia and Flora. 

---

The Three Broomsticks was as boisterous as ever, overflowing with patrons who had come here to shelter from the windy weather outside. Madam Rosmerta smiled at Juno and leaned in to whisper, “Third Parlour above is yours, my dear.”

The Carrow twins were left at a table in the tap room, while Juno headed up the stairs to find her reservation. 

“Miss Black,” Alfred Grimsby greeted her inside, tipping his hat.

He was a plump man, his grey whiskers twitching with each movement, looking two decades younger for his seventy-three years. The simple smile on his rounded face looked harmless, as did his well-kept beard and walrus moustache, but Juno knew better. The Potion Master was a cunning fox; he was responsible for running House Black’s potion business and providing all potion supplies for the Blacks. He did not look bothered, even though his reputation was ruined by the Prophet article earlier.

Juno silently seated herself across the table, looking at him with a blank face.

“Oh my, you have grown quite a lot since I last saw you,” he said, clearing his throat. “I wonder why you called for such a meeting?”

“I have yet to receive the rent for the Potion Facilities in Kent,” Juno said lightly, putting her left hand on the table. The man swallowed as his eyes flickered to the two signet rings of House Black and Lestrange, which were in plain view. “Perhaps you have… forgotten to send your dues. There’s also the issue with the halting of your debt payments that began in March last year, and the lack of potions that should have been supplied to House Black.”

The man had the decency to blush. “Business has been poor due to Bellatrix Lestrange running amok,” he said apologetically. “Much of my clientele has been scared away, and I’m afraid I can only pay the rent and a third of the missed debt payments.”

Juno’s lips curled. The concession would have sounded better if she had not known better. His face was twisted in regret, but she wasn’t fooled. It was merely a tactic of delaying and denying.

It might have worked if the Potions Master were indeed in a tough situation. 

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to requisition all of your store’s stock to make up the difference,” Juno said, voice flat.

Grimsby’s smile curdled. “My lady—I—I wouldn’t be able to make further payments, then!”

“Let us dispose of the false pleasantries.” Juno fished out a piece of parchment and slapped it on the table. “This report here shows me that your profits have been averaging over a thousand galleons a month, and with the cost of ingredients set at under six hundred, you have made a significant sum in the course of the last year. Even excluding the salary of that young new assistant you’ve gotten far too intimate with, it’s more than enough to pay the money House Black is owed and then some.”

The old wizard blanched.

“Th-this has to be a mistake,” he said, his voice thick and unsteady.

Juno tilted her head. “I’m sure your wife will agree. Quite the mistake too—shagging a witch younger than your own granddaughter, and putting the profit in her name to cover it from Ministry taxation and debt repayments.”

“You have no proof,” he glowered, face darkening.

“Think what you will,” she drawled, her voice thickening with disgust. “But don’t complain if your wife receives an owl with animated evidence of your infidelity at work. Or when the Ministry auditors come knocking on your door.”

Truth be told, Skeeter was far more useful as an investigator than a mere reporter, and Juno intended to squeeze the woman for all she was worth—and then some. She stared at Grimsby’s angry, dark eyes without flinching. Eventually, he lowered his gaze. 

“You’re a bold little thing, Lady Black,” he muttered, sagging into the chair as though the last of his strength had drained away. “I’ll pay my dues.”

“Your Potion quota as well,” Juno pressed, sliding a magical contract across the table. “And from now on, it will be doubled for the next four years.”

Grimsby’s face drained of colour as his eyes skimmed through the parchment. “This… it’s not what I agreed with Arcturus.”

She quirked a brow. “You shouldn’t have broken that agreement, then.”

“Alright.” His eyes darted around, and he leaned in, voice lowered to a whisper, “But what about… that?”

“That?” she echoed.

“You know.” He tugged at his collar. “Those… pictures. With Miss Amanda.”

“Oh, the pictures.” Juno gave a girly laugh. “I’m afraid I’ll be keeping those. An insurance for your honesty, you understand.”

Sighing, the man reluctantly pulled out a scruffy quill and scribbled his name on the new contract. Juno snatched it back, eyes hovering over Grimsby’s name. She felt the magic, too, and it was binding. As binding as a normal contract could ever be, but it would hold before any barrister. 

She eased slightly. This was easier than she thought. There had been no use of curses, hexes, or any fighting, just good old blackmail. Perhaps Arcturus and Cassiopeia had been on to something.

The door creaked open, and Madam Rosmerta came in with two platters heavy with food. Juno’s mouth watered at the sight of the steaming Cornish pastry and butterbeer. 

Juno picked the fork, but the moment she leaned in, the rings on her left hand prickled. She stiffened.

There were potions in the food. Both Alfred Grimsby and Rosmerta looked at her at that moment. Rosmerta’s eyes were slightly glazed over. 

Juno felt it then. A thousand ants crawled up her back, and her instincts screamed to move. 

Both Grimsby and Rosmerta were drawing their wands, but Juno was quicker. Her wand was already in her grasp, and she poked the older Witch. A dull red light erupted, and she keeled over, Stunned. 

Juno barely managed to twist around and raise a shield at Grimsby. 

“Imperio!”

The pale jet of light pierced through her shield as if it were made out of paper.

‘Relax,’ a voice in her head told her. ‘Calm down.’ 

Juno found herself easing, lowering her wand down. Grimsby’s eyes fluttered to her face and then down her chest. He licked his lips. The door slid open again, and three more men, all cloaked, entered through with wands drawn.

“I have her under control,” Grimsby said, a shit-eating grin spreading through her face. “She’s quite the handful, that one. Vicious.” 

She wanted to lift her wand and blast the cretins apart, but her hand felt too… relaxed. Lifting it up would be an effort.

“Stop dawdling, you lecher,” was the derisive reply. “Lady Lestrange wants her back right away. Disarm her already.”

‘Drop your wand.’

The wand felt heavy in her hand, then, and her fingers loosened. No. Why would she drop her wand?

“Drop your wand, girl,” the old lecher echoed out loud. “On the ground.”

Juno lowered to drop her wand but halted.

Why would she listen to a lecher? Realisation set in, and she felt something cracking. Something hot and angry churned in her chest, black and maddening.

Her wand whipped out with a spin, pointing at Alfred Grimsby’s heart before anyone could react, ‘Cardia Finis!’

Grimsby clutched his chest and crumpled on the floor, dead.

Juno leapt aside, narrowly avoiding three dark curses. Something shattered behind her. She barely managed to raise a shield to ward off the shrapnel that came from the wooden wall.

Her wand was already doing the motion, “Terebro!” One of the cloaked men raised a shield, while another one made a pulling motion.

The shield broke, and the curse lanced through his stomach. He scarcely flinched and hurled back a stunner at her. She ducked underneath and shielded against two more. Juno’s heart sank.

They were too trained, too skilled, and moved in tandem. Yet… no lethal spells ever came her way. 

They wanted to capture her, and unlike that time in Diagon Alley, they were here for her. 

‘Glacius! Avis! Reducto!’

Her combo shattered through a shield… but merely cracked the second one. 

The three spells were soaked by two shields, much to her chagrin. Yet her training was paying off. With no lethal curses coming her way, she could defend herself… if barely.

But she did not need to defeat them here. She needed to hold on until the Aurors or the teachers caught the commotion. 

“Imperio!” 

Juno inwardly cursed and desperately moved, ducking under the binding hex and the red streak that looked like a stunner. 

Running away? For a split second, her eyes flickered to the glass window. It would be easy to jump through and escape. The thought burned in her mind. The Lady of Black, scrambling out of windows as though she were no better than a cornered thief.

No. She had not trained so hard to run away. Something inside her roared. 

She poured all her hatred into her wand and jabbed at the one casting Unforgivables. “Ruptum!”

Dark purple jet arose. The man hastily raised a shield, but the spell shredded through it.

Splorch!

His head exploded like an overripe watermelon, sending bits and pieces of blood, bone, and brain matter in every direction. Juno was already moving forward, flicking her wand at the next target. He raised his shield, so she jerked her hand at his companion, sending a silent Blood Boiling Curse.

Yet at the same time, another figure rushed through the door, and a wand was pointed at her side faster than she could react.

She felt every fibre of her being stiffen, and a push saw her fall on her back. She tried to move, but her limbs refused to listen, as if they were set in stone. Petrification Curse, her mind supplied.

“You louts couldn’t even ambush a girl five against one,” a rough voice berated as her wand was pried off her hand. “At least I managed to contain the commotion for a while. We have a minute before the Aurors or Bones come in blasting, and Eric won’t hold for long.”

Juno stared at the wooden ceiling and tried to will her magic. Anything. Break. Break. Break. Power prickled beneath her skin, but without a wand… she was powerless. Her head pulsed with pain as her mind itself strained. She tried to gather her mind and Disapparate. But her body remained motionless.

“It’s only natural. It’s Lestrange’s daughter, alright,” another voice murmured, half-angry, half-impressed. “She even got Johnny—blasted his head off without even hesitating.”

Juno bristled in the confines of her mind. She did not achieve what she did thanks to her useless, cowardly mother. Juno opened her mind to all the fury boiling in her chest.

Break. Break. Break, bloody damn it! She barely managed to move the tip of her finger. But it was not enough. Perhaps if she had another minute—

“Quickly, help me dispel this Blood-boiling Curse.”

There was a commotion somewhere downstairs. 

Damn it all! If she could just move her tongue and say the Portkey activation phrase—

“Let’s send her to Lestrange before they come over—Alan won’t block them for long. Give me the portkey.” More shuffling. She saw the cloaked figure loom over her and drop a snake-shaped pin on her body. “Good night, little princess. Stupefy.” 

---

Harry Potter

He felt a chill ghost over his neck the moment he saw Flora and Hestia run to him, their usually blank faces alive with panic. 

“They took her,” her cousin said, voice dark. “They took Juno.”

His veins turned to ice.

“Tell me everything,” Harry demanded, his wand already in his hand, ready to blast any enemies that appeared. His eyes darted across, but no foe jumped out.

“I… she went for that meeting with Grimsby.” Flora’s voice was breathless, and her mismatched eyes bolted around erratically. “At first, there was nothing. No sound or anything. Then something broke with a loud pop—I think it was some silencing charm, and a dreadful racket erupted from the second-floor parlours. Spells started blasting above, and someone inside blew up the windows and set a few tables on fire.”

Both of their robes were crumpled, and he could see bits of food, wood, and glass in the folds. 

“The patrons fled in panic,” Hestia added, her voice quivering. “Damned cowards. There were at least three cloaked figures. We tried to fight them—and we did for half a minute, but…”

“They got the better of us—I was blasted through the window, and my sister was struck by a Crucio. It was for half a moment, but I—I had to drag her out.” Flora’s eyes were swimming with tears. “I dragged Hes out instead of trying to help Juno. I’m sorry—”

“I don’t blame you,” said Harry, gazing at his trembling cousins. The proud Slytherin twins both looked pitiful and ready to burst into tears. Hestia’s fingers were still shaking. He hated seeing them like this. “You did well to retreat then. You’re hurt. Go to Madam Pomfrey. Right away—don’t argue.”

Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed both of them by the hand and dragged them to the Hospital Wing.

They ran after him, despite being breathless from running around to find him.

“When the patrolling Aurors and Professor Bones came, they put out the flames, but half of the building was charred, and the only things they found were Alfred Grimsby and Madam Rosmerta’s bodies—half-burned and all.” Flora’s voice hitched. “Not even a sight of Juno. We ran back to tell you as soon as possible…”

“So Bellatrix Lestrange has taken Juno,” Harry said darkly as he rushed through the hallways.

Students stopped and looked at him oddly, pointing fingers and whispering, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“We… don’t know,” Hestia sobbed out. “We can’t know.”

Harry exhaled, but it did nothing to calm the thundering of his heart. “Nobody else would care or do it like this. Seven skilled wizards—or more—just to capture a witch of fourteen. Grimsby and Rosmerta… they could have been in on it. Or under the Imperius.”

They reached the Hospital Wing, and Harry wordlessly remained at the entrance, watching as Pomfrey fussed over his cousins. Something stirred inside his chest again. Something hot and ugly and painful. 

Rage, but it was not the usual anger he felt. This one was… deeper. More solid. As if he had a ball of molten iron stuck in his ribcage. 

They dared to take his friend away. They dared!

He should have gone with Juno today, but the training had seen him have a nap instead. If he had been at Hogsmeade…

It shouldn’t have been possible. Juno was not easy to defeat, and even harder to kidnap. She had a Portkey, and with just a word, she would have been safe. But what if she was ambushed?

But… he had let his guard down when nothing had happened for months. Perhaps Juno had done the same. Even Moody had been taken down by Pettigrew and Barty Crouch Jr once. An ambush by multiple wizards was not something anyone could deal with. 

He didn’t know when his feet led him out to the outer yard, but he was there. Students had crowded around the statues and over the grounds, and the air was thick with hushed whispers.

“Did you hear? There was a fight in Hogsmeade.”

“Someone died, they say,” an older girl said. 

“And someone was kidnapped.”

“They say the Three Broomsticks is a charred wreck now.”

Concern, panic, even schadenfreude washed off him like water from a rock.

Merula Snyde was standing at Hogwarts’ outer gate again, her face tight. Her orange eyes pinned him down as he approached.  

“No students are allowed to leave the school grounds,” she said firmly. Her wand was gripped so tightly that her knuckles had gone bone-white.

Harry clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath. Clear your mind. Let your emotions flow. Centre yourself.

“I am merely concerned for my friend,” Harry said quietly. 

Merula snorted.

“Then, why is your wand drawn and glowing with power?”

“If Juno can be kidnapped in broad daylight, who knows what dangers lurk outside?” he snarked back, not lowering his wand. “You can’t stop me from going to look for her, Snyde.”

“There’s no need for such a thing, Mr Potter,” Remus Lupin’s voice came nearby. “Hogsmeade is swarming with Aurors, and the Deputy Headmistress is there. Do you think they will do a better job than she? Or that perhaps you think they’ll allow someone unrelated to enter the crime scene?”

His words finally managed to steady Harry’s nerves. They made sense. That, and the uneasy thought that he couldn’t possibly take on both Merula Snyde—now being trained by Amelia Bones—and Moony at once. With a resigned sigh, he put away his wand, and Merula mirrored the gesture.

Remus Lupin was escorting a group of fretful students, among whom were many familiar faces. Draco Malfoy, the Greengrass Twins, Goldstein, Diana, and many more who had high enough grades to earn Hogsmeade privilege. 

“Do you think they’ll find Juno, then?” Harry asked tightly. 

Moony sighed. He still looked miserable, but that was nothing new—the full moon had been five days ago.

“It might take a while,” he said at last, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But if Mad-Eye Moody and Amelia Bones can’t find your friend, no one will.” 

“Damn it all!” Harry swore.

His magic roared and rushed, prickling beneath his skin, ready to erupt. But there was nothing to unleash it at.

If he had gone with Juno… 

His friends and fellow study-group members crowded around him, their faces hung heavy with concern, but Harry was too numb to care—he had to keep his mind crystal clear, or that angry ball of rage lodged between his ribs would overwhelm him. With half an ear, he listened to what they had said. To his dismay, it was less than what Hestia and Flora had given him.

Nobody knew what exactly had happened. Or why. 

But Harry… he could feel it deep inside. Juno had enemies, yes, but only one was crazy and bold enough to pull off something like this. Her own mother. 

Time passed in a blur as he tried to control his emotions. Excusing himself, he found himself wandering across the castle. Yet the usually cosy Hogwarts hallways did nothing to soothe him today. 

The rumours he heard only grew wilder by the end of the day.

“Juno escaped school and joined her mother on her quest for murder and destruction,” a fourth-year Gryffindor said loudly while Harry was passing by. Harry would have ignored them, but the taunt was loud and deliberate. His friends laughed nastily. Even Neville was there, face heavy with poorly veiled glee.

Idiots. Fools. Nobody knew better than him how cruel children could be. They had no idea.

He merely closed his eyes and snorted. McLaggen’s hair burst into flames, and he started squealing like a little girl while his friends tried to put it out. With a second snort, the fire disappeared. Harry retreated into the Room, spending the next two hours meditating, trying to calm his mind. But he was too restless. Too angry. Too guilty.

In the end, the rage gave way to exhaustion and dwindled. But the seething embers of wrath remained, pooling in his stomach no matter what he did, ready to burst at the slightest spark. His mind, however, was a mess. He had grown… reliant on Juno’s presence. She was steady, methodical to the point of being pedantic.

Without her, Harry felt like an arm and a leg were missing.  

He waited and waited at the school’s entrance, sitting over the orichalcum statue head by the main entrance. It got dark, and soon his friends came one by one.

Diana was first, coming with a handful of beef sandwiches. “Here,” she said, offering them up. “You don’t have to starve yourself out.”

Next was Padma with a bottle of pumpkin juice. More Ravenclaws came as the sun set, all sitting beside him in silence as the sky darkened. 

It was Goldstein who broke the silence. “What are you waiting for?”

“I’m waiting for Professor Bones to return,” he said curtly.

Not only his year but also the ones above. Tonks came, and even Penelope from the older prefects. Diggory, the Weasley twins, and Ron—even Percy came along. Even the Slytherins arrived in groups, led by Draco, the Carrow and Greengrass twins.

At some point, even Hagrid arrived, face tight. “It’ll be alright,” he said. “They’ll find ’er an’ bring ’er back, yeh’ll see.”

Merula stood by one of the statues like a silent spectre, wary eyes glancing at Harry. But there was worry there, too. Before long, Nyx returned from her hunt, slithered through the darkness, sneaked into his shadow, and curled into his skin.

“Where is Juno?”

“Abducted.”

The snake was taken aback.

“Why not take her back, then?”

“They hid their tracks with magic.”

Nyx hissed in displeasure. “Nasty two-legs.”

Even Flitwick came, standing in vigil, together with the hesitant Slughorn. A whole crowd of nearly a hundred students had gathered, but they were all restless. Nobody spoke.  

Amelia Bones only returned deep into the night—it was quarter past nine. She merely shook her head with a grimace.

“Miss Black is still missing,” she said, exhaustion oozing from her voice. “That’s all I can say—everything else is under Auror investigation.”

Harry had expected this, but the blow still made him reel. 

Amelia’s cold blue eyes lingered on Harry for half a second more. They would talk tomorrow morning, then.

“Fifty points to each house for showing such unity,” Amelia added, eyes glancing across the crowd. “But curfew approaches. Off to the beds, now.”

Harry couldn’t sleep that night. He slipped into the Room and trained himself until he passed out.

He woke up stiff and anxious the next morning, but his head was clear—clearer than last night, at least. The urge to run out and do something had been drained out of him with hours of magic practice.

Now, his mind was set on one goal only—getting Juno back. Wallowing in regret and misery would do him no good.

He wanted to go to Professor Bones’s office, but the rumbling of his hungry stomach turned him towards the Great Hall.

The commotion and whispers died out the moment he stepped in. They all looked at him with pity, wariness, and even mocking glee. Dumbledore was absent from his golden chair on his staff table still, and Harry felt… trepidation. 

Sighing, Harry sat beside the stunned Diana, whose eyes were glued to the newest edition of the Daily Prophet.

His eyes flicked to the page at the bold words glaring at him from above a picture of the half-burned Three Broomsticks. Harry Potter froze.

MURDER AND MAYHEM IN HOGSMEADE. 

By Thaddeus Thorne, Senior Correspondent

Last evening, soon after lunch, an altercation took place in Hogsmeade’s Three Broomsticks that ended with the cruel murder of two upstanding members of our society: Rosmerta Fenwick and Alfred Grimsby.

The investigation is still underway, but we have reached out to a contact in DMLE. As far as we know, there is only a single suspect—Juno Bellatrix Black—who is currently missing, and the evidence is damning…

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Author’s Endnote: Whew. It’s time for another year of shit hitting the fan. Juno plans a lot, gets abducted because of hubris. 

This PoV is full of unreliable narrators, and things will only ramp up from now on.