59.Fire to Ashes

4th of May 1994, Friday

Dumbledore

Igor Karkaroff paced across the room, his footsteps as feverish as they were nervous. Just like almost everything else in Durmstrang, the headmaster’s office was dark and gloomy, even without counting the vast collection of cursed books lining the shelves. The windows were stilted, lacking in sunlight; a dark grey carpet sagged across the floor, and the furniture was either cast or coloured in various degrees of dark, joyless hues. 

“He’s about to return, Dumbledore!” Igor rolled up his left sleeve and jabbed his wand at his forearm, where the Dark Mark was a solid, deep colour. “How can you be so calm!?” 

Albus raised the cup of black tea and took a sip. “I do not see the point in fretting over something I cannot change,” he said. The attempt had been made, and even now, he stood vigilant to no avail, but his conscience was clear for it. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of running, Igor?”

“The Dark Lord will not suffer betrayal, Dumbledore,” was the shaky response. Then, Igor’s eyes darted to the corner, as if Voldemort was hiding in the shadows. “He hates traitors more than Muggleborns and Muggles. Once he’s back, I’ll be hunted to the ends of the earth. You know this!”

“You’re not wrong.” Albus inclined his head.

The words only seemed to distress the former Death Eater more.

“Then… then why did you agree to that ridiculous Triwizard Tournament?”

Now, that was certainly a question worth asking. There were several reasons not to host the tournament, let alone participate, but Fudge had set his mind on the matter and convinced the whole Ministry of it, too. 

“The cost of permitting the tournament to proceed is the lesser burden,” the old warlock said at last. “Since it must happen, then I would rather it occur under my watchful eye, where I might at least steer its course and ensure, to the best of my ability, that such dangers are managed.”

“Only you, Dumbledore, only you,” Igor muttered, shaking his head. “Damn it all!”

“The ministers of Sweden and France have already agreed on the matter,” Albus pointed out. “You might as well make the proper preparations instead of dwelling on what could have been.”

“I know they want the good publicity!” Igor roared in frustration. “How can they pretend that the werewolves, the Dark Lord, and countless dark wizards are not running roughshod over half the continent? No, I must run—”

“Why?”

Of course, it was not for a noble reason like protecting the safety of his students. Igor Karkaroff was a selfish man, and Albus would wager their well-being never once entered his mind.

Igor raised his head, looking at him with bloodshot eyes. “I want to live, Dumbledore,” he rasped, voice low and harsh. “That’s why I betrayed the other Death Eaters. I want to live!”

And that fear of death had only made him more cowardly. Karkaroff had been a fierce fighter long ago, a famous master of martial magic who had touched on the limits, with only a handful of wizards his equal in brilliance and magical might, but that man was nowhere to be seen now.

“Then, has it occurred to you that by running, you’re putting yourself in the position of prey to be chased?”

“Fighting the Dark Lord is impossible,” Igor choked, shivering. “I know his might all too well.” His fingers clawed over his left forearm, dragging into the inked flesh. “This is not just a mark of honour for his followers, but a brand. He branded us all like cattle, Dumbledore. I must leave now—”

“You possess considerable mastery of the Dark Arts and martial magic, Igor,” Albus said, not unkindly. “Removing the mark that brands you should be within your power, and a lone ex-Death Eater, fleeing and alone, is far easier to deal with, shall I say, than the headmaster of Durmstrang.”

Igor halted, looking at his bared forearm as if seeing it for the first time. He stood there, as still as a statue, face not surrendering even a hint of emotion. The old headmaster sighed inwardly. Voldemort’s greatest power was never his strength in magic, but the fear he inspired. Fear that could paralyse many with indecision, and a fearful man would lose a battle before the fight even began. 

“Think on it, Igor,” he offered, draining the rest of his cup. “Once, you had touched upon greatness but squandered it for youthful folly. Now… I’d choose my battles in a way I would not regret if I were you.” 

Just as he stood up, a silvery white wolf appeared before him.

“Professor, Harry is in trouble,” Lupin’s hurried voice came out. “He’s in Brechfa Forest, captured by Bellatrix and Greyback.”

Then, the Patronus faded, curling into a wisp of fading light.

Albus frowned. 

Because of his qualms, Remus had not yet been sent to spy on the werewolves, for the danger had been too high. He knew of his newfound family, of course, and counted on the connection, but…

Had Remus betrayed him? Or perhaps Greyback had threatened his son?

But if so, why mention Harry Potter’s capture? How could they have even captured the young wizard in Hogwarts? 

Was this a trap that had lured Mr Potter out of the castle? Guilt, perhaps?

Albus gave his host an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I must leave immediately, Igor. As you heard, other quite urgent matters demand my attention.”

Igor Karkaroff had not so much as twitched at the Patronus, still staring at his Dark Mark, but the old headmaster could feel the anti-Apparition protections lower inside the room.

Nodding, he palmed his wand, cleared his thoughts to sharpen his focus enough to allow him to Disapparate all the way to the British Isles. 

With a pop, he landed on a hill overlooking Brechfa Forest and quickly shook away the disorientation coming with long-distance Apparition.

The air was choked with smoke, and the wind carried a faint scent of brimstone and ash.

A flick of his wand cleared the air around him.

Brechfa Forest was on fire. It was no ordinary flame.

A bright-green conflagration illuminated the night, and Dumbledore could see it from miles away. Even from a distance, he could feel a faint pressure on his mind, dabbling at his defences. It was easy enough to ignore, but the Elder Wand pulsed in his hand, and the lingering pressure dissipated. His face grew serious. This wasn’t some trap, or at least not one meant for him. He could feel the dark, eerie magic roiling and burning and churning all the way from here, too.

It was not Fiendfyre’s greedy, all-consuming desire, but the danger of these flames was no less. 

“Fawkes,” he whispered, and the phoenix flamed in, landing on his shoulder.

Fawkes looked at the inferno and tilted his head as if confused, then let out a low, joyless trill.

The headmaster sighed and entered the woodland, drawing closer and closer to the burning inferno. He stretched his senses and found no living things in the vicinity—even the forest critters had made themselves scarce at the sight of the fire.

A wall of hot air struck his face as he approached, and now, Dumbledore could feel it better. This was a cursed flame, throbbing with the power of destruction, but lacking the malice that came with dark magic. For something so… sinister, it was surprisingly pure. It lacked intent or purpose beyond its will to burn, too.

Albus raised his wand, letting out a thick jet of water. It evaporated the moment it splashed over the dancing green fire. 

His brows furrowed—this would not be so easy to extinguish. Unlike Fiendfyre, which could be subdued by dominating its intent, this flame had to be halted through sheer strength, or it would burn through the entire forest by dawn, and then some.

He could use force to put it out or contain it, but the fire had grown too. It was not impossible, but that would see him tired and vulnerable. 

Sighing, the old warlock raised his hands, wand jabbing skyward.

“Nubila Convoco!”

He could feel the enormous pull on his navel as his magic and intent were poured into the sky. 

Surely enough, heavy black clouds began to gather by the second. The Elder Wand grew hot between his fingers, thrumming, eager to aid him for the first time, as if the existence of the green flame before him angered it.

“Caeli Lacrima!”

A thunderclap cracked the sky, and Albus felt something wet splash across his face. Then, rain started pittering within the minute, and turned into a thick downpour. 

The green flames sizzled and hissed as steam filled the air, but within a minute, the inferno was already shrinking. Fawkes seemingly lost interest, let out an undignified squawk, and flamed away. 

Albus raised his wand again, conjuring an umbrella of pure magic, and watched without blinking as he spread his senses. 

A quarter-hour later, the fire was finally defeated and its last embers extinguished, and only a blackened stretch of land remained, completely bereft of any signs of life. 

There was only ash and slag remaining. Albus spent hours, but he couldn’t find even a single bone, let alone Harry Potter, Bellatrix Lestrange, or werewolves. Whatever magical or physical traces had been here before had all been consumed by the green flame.

If anything, the headmaster was more confused than ever. 

This wasn’t a trap… so, where was Harry Potter?

Had Lupin lied?

Adjusting his spectacles, Albus Dumbledore Disapparated again, returning to his own office. 

It was past midnight now, and the whole school was asleep.

“Pally,” he murmured. “Tell me if Mr Potter and Professor Lupin are in their beds.”

Five minutes later, an anxious elf popped into his office.

“They be missing, Professor Bumblebee,” she said, anxiously tugging on her large ears. “Pally can’t find them in the school.”

Frowning, Albus made his way down to the third floor and stopped in front of Lupin’s office.

The door was not locked and opened with a tap of his wand. All the books, cloaks, and personal effects inside were gone. Lupin had left for good.

The mystery was only deepening. Where was Mr Potter?

Where was Professor Lupin?

What had happened in that forest?

So many questions, and not a single answer.

The headmaster’s gaze was then drawn to the desk, where an inconspicuous piece of parchment lay.  

5th of May 1994, Saturday

Juno

She had despaired when she saw Harry all but tortured in front of her eyes. Then, she had rejoiced at her escape and the sight of Harry, well and alive. Despair had only returned as he would not wake, no matter what they did, and his complexion had been deathly pale, and his breathing had been faint and uneven, like a flickering candle about to be snuffed out at the first gust.

“You should sleep,” Amelia’s hoarse voice came from the door, startling her.

Her dark red battle robes were replaced with a modest dress of dark yellow and black, and her hair was now loose, flowing in a curtain of crimson down her shoulders. 

“How can I sleep?” Juno murmured, rubbing her eyes as she stared at the guest room’s door.

They were in Amelia’s home, a cosy two-floor house near Pavenham, waiting in the living room.  

“You look ready to keel over,” the older witch said. “Harry would not want to see you like this.”

The Black heiress was well aware she was a proper mess. Her head was already dizzy, her limbs felt weak, and her eyelids only stayed open by sheer willpower.

“I just want to know if he’s well.” Juno bit her lips. “He was too pale when he transformed back, and it’s been at least four hours now.”

Her mother was dead, but Juno didn’t care. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

She still remembered Harry’s prone form and his shallow breathing. Even Nyx’s tattoo was deathly still, with no signs of movement. 

Amelia Bones came over and sat to her side.

“Prudence Waffling is one of the best healers in Wizarding Britain,” she reassured, voice soft. “She’s also the most discreet one, often putting me back together after some of my more dangerous Auror missions—and others that were not exactly sanctioned, yet she never tattles. With Madam Waffling’s care, Harry will be back on his feet in no time.”

Juno could hear the hesitation in the witch’s voice. Unsaid remained that if Waffling couldn’t fix Harry, he would be beyond helping.

“And what would she know of magical Animagi?” the young witch bit back, again growing agitated. “What would Madam Waffling know of phoenixes and the like?”

“Unlike you or me, healing is her forte, and it will be enough. It must be enough.” 

For a moment, Amelia Bones looked as shaken as Juno felt. Then, she pulled Juno into a hug, and the young witch stiffened. A hand combed through her hair, and then, Juno found the tension slowly bleed out of her body.

“I know you’re worried about Harry,” Amelia whispered. “I am just as worried. But he is tougher than he looks.”

“He almost died because of me,” Juno sobbed out. “I-I thought I lost him. I almost did, if not for that phoenix form. If I weren’t so stupid or so eager to prove myself—”

“Shh.” Amelia’s voice grew soft and warm. “Don’t blame yourself for your failures, but learn from them. Grow. And do you think Harry would hesitate to go in and try to save you again if given the chance?”

Juno wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t.

She knew Harry all too well. Her friend was as stubborn as a mule when he made up his mind, and he would probably do it again without a second thought.

It only made the ball of anger and pain in her chest swell more. The earlier rollercoaster of emotions, the days of vigilance, and the lack of sleep had taken their toll, and she could feel her eyes closing over.

She felt warm, almost safe in Amelia’s embrace, as the older witch smelled of mint and chamomile. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest was oddly peaceful, as was the pair of hands that pulled Juno in deeper and the lullaby the older witch was humming. She almost felt like a plush toy that was given to children. But she was too tired to care, and soon sleep took her. 

Juno awoke with a start, warily looking around. The tent was gone, and her mother… her mother was dead too. She was in Amelia’s house, she remembered. She should have felt happy, but her heart felt hollow instead.

Stretching, Juno fought off a yawn—she was stiff all over, but felt moderately rested. Amelia was gone, but a blanket was covering her on the couch. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and blinked. Light was already streaming in from the window.

The clattering of plates and cutlery came from the kitchen along with the smell of bacon and eggs that made her stomach grumble, and Juno hastily made her way there.

Surely enough, Amelia Bones and Prudence Waffling were having a hearty breakfast, and there was even a third plate on the table, untouched. 

“Come, join us, girl,” Madam Waffling said, tapping the free chair at her side. 

Juno complied and joined them at the table, pulling over a buttered toast.

The healer was an older witch with greying hair tied in a bun and a strict face.

“How’s Harry?”

“He’ll live,” was the cool reply. “I still can’t decide if the boy is a genius or an imbecile.”

“Harry is not an imbecile,” Juno snarled, reaching for her wand, but it was gone. The wand was in the ministry’s hands to implicate her… but even if it was here, she had no magic to wield it.

“Yes, becoming a phoenix Animagus is an unprecedented feat,” Waffling said, waving dismissively. “But have you thought why wizards’ Animagus forms are always ordinary beasts?”

“Not really,” Juno admitted abashedly, her anger receding.

“Magical creatures are beasts that live and breathe magic, and while wizards can hold magic in their flesh, it is paltry in comparison.” The healer took a generous gulp of coffee and sighed. “Truth be told, I still don’t believe it even after I swore a vow of silence, but the results speak for themselves. Harry Potter did not have enough magic to become a phoenix, a creature of power and fire, so his grand feat came at a cost.”

Dread pooled in Juno’s belly.

“What cost?” she asked, bracing herself for the answer.

“His magic was far from enough, and that shower of lightning was a catalyst, so he subconsciously tapped into his body’s life force,” was the wry reply. “His vitality is spent, and he has probably lost a decade or two of his lifespan. Mr Potter is indeed lucky to be alive, but whether his magic can recover is another question.”

Juno reeled as the implications set in.

“Wizards can’t become squibs,” she said fiercely. “It’s just not possible.”

Prudence Waffling snorted. “Wizards do not become magical Animagi, Miss Black. Perhaps it would be fine with a weaker beast like a kneazle, but a phoenix is a creature of pure magic. A transformation alone might not have done much harm, but the sheer inferno of enchanted fire he conjured is not something an ordinary wizard could ever muster, let alone a tired and battered one.

Even with normal magical exhaustion, magic slowly accumulates in the body of a wizard, but that did not happen with Mr Potter. He might as well have burned his ability to hold magic, but unlike the Magic Draining Solution you’re suffering from, his affliction is likely permanent—” 

The witch’s words halted, and she grimaced as her gaze moved to the door.

Harry stood at the doorway in a loose grey shirt, blinking at the healer.

“Don’t stop on my behalf,” he said lightly. 

“How much did you hear, Mr Potter?” the healer asked, voice softening.

“Most of it,” Harry admitted with a sheepish smile. “Anyway, please continue.”

“There’s not much else to say,” Madam Waffling said, sighing. “You will know your condition best. Without magic, you’ll feel a sense of weakness that will never leave, and from what I can see, it’s unlikely to change.” She stood up and smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid my skills are insufficient to help you further, Mr Potter. I’ll be available for a check-up every weekend, if you wish.”

Then, Prudence Waffling bowed and left.

“She’s extremely proud of her healing skills,” Amelia said with a shake of her head. “Now that she’s failed a patient, Prudence couldn’t endure your gaze. But you don’t seem… particularly troubled, Mr Potter.”

Harry eased himself into Prudence’s chair and shrugged.

Juno couldn’t tear her eyes from her friend’s face as guilt welled up in her chest again. But… he no longer looked pale, nor did he look angry or bothered. There was something… eerie with her friend. A quality that looked almost sinister but could not truly be described with words. Yet the more she looked, the less Juno could catch it.

“I feel a bit numb, truth be told,” he murmured. “But I’ll live and Juno is safe, so that’s better than what I hoped for.”

“But…” Juno’s mouth quivered. “You’re r-ruined because of me. Your future was boundless, your potential in magic unrivalled and, because of me—”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Harry interrupted, his fingers curled around an unused fork. Then, he squeezed the head into a fist and placed it on the table, revealing it had been twisted into a misshapen ball. “There’s no trace of that weakness that Madam Waffling spoke of. I feel stronger than ever, if anything. Not Hagrid strong, of course, but stronger than I felt two days ago…”

“Then, can you feel your magic?” Juno asked hopefully.

“Not really, can’t even light my wand—I tried.” Harry placed his yew wand on the table and frowned. “But… it isn’t rejecting me, so our connection is still there.”

“And a squib cannot stay bonded with a wand,” Amelia finished, excitement creeping into her voice. 

“And a squib shouldn’t be able to share traits with his Animagus form,” her friend added with a frown. “This newfound strength should be bleeding over from the phoenix.”

Amelia murmured something that sounded suspiciously like ‘damned Sirius Black’ and ‘bloody Animagus at twelve’.

“And that’s why your control with fire was so messed up,” Juno exclaimed. If Harry weren’t crippled, everything would be great. Even if he were crippled, she wouldn’t mind…

“I wouldn’t be in a hurry to celebrate, though,” Harry said, dousing their rising excitement. “The healer wasn’t wrong—I can’t feel any magic entering my body at all. I might as well be a squib.”

“Perhaps you will heal with time,” Amelia offered. “Even so, you don’t seem too worried. Any wizard would freak out at the prospect of losing their magic.”

“Even if I lose my magic, it’ll be fine,” Harry said, picking up one of the pieces of toast. “I’ve lived longer without it than I have with it. Being ordinary isn’t a death sentence, you know. Sirius probably won’t kick me out, so it’s fine.”

“But you trained so hard, and you were—” Juno choked, a new frustration rising in her chest. “What about our plans?”

Harry paused, stabbing his fork into the bacon. “I… wasn’t quite in control after the lightning. The creature’s mind was quite strong. The blind urge to kill and burn and destroy was stronger than I.”

Amelia’s face had grown pale. “They say the first Animagus transformation is hardest to control,” she whispered. “But you did not harm me or Miss Black.”

“Barely. Perhaps not doing magic is for the better.” Sighing, the boy started wolfing down the leftover bacon.

“I refuse,” Juno declared fiercely. “I refuse to accept this, no matter what. I’ll help you fix it all.” 

“Don’t be mistaken,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of eggs. “I haven’t given up either, I’m just hungry. And my situation isn’t as urgent as yours. I’ve passed my O.W.L.s already. At most, I’ll stop going to school until I recover or just… disappear. You, however, must stand trial in the Ministry in about twenty days.”

“Eighteen, actually,” the deputy headmistress said thoughtfully. “But with Rodolphus Lestrange in our grasp, clearing your name should be quite easy. I assume you didn’t kill Mr Grimsby and Madam Rosmerta?”

“I did kill Grimsby, but only after he tried to put me under the Imperious,” Juno said, stabbing her fork into her plate. “It should be an easy case for self-defence, and well, my family has often handled such matters before. They were quite good at it back in the day, actually. House Black’s personal barrister will easily deal with this case and make Fudge regret everything he’s done.”

“Indeed.”

“You should eat,” Harry urged, looking at her plate. 

She had not touched her food, and her appetite was gone. Sighing, Juno stabbed a piece of bacon and bit into it. The taste was just right, and she suddenly felt better. 

The three of them ate in silence until no more food was left.

“Is there more?” Harry asked through a tired yawn. “I’m still hungry.”

“Linny,” Amelia intoned, and a scrappy-looking house elf popped next to her. “Bring me a double serving of breakfast for Mr Potter here.”

“Professor Bonsie, the headmaster is looking for you and Mr Potter,” the elf said.

“I’ll be back at Hogwarts shortly,” the deputy headmistress said, face growing stony.

The elf popped away, and soon, a big plate of steaming roast mushrooms, sausages, and toast appeared before Harry. Her friend continued eating, as if his stomach had turned bottomless.

“By the way… what happened with Nyx?”

“She’s…” Harry’s face scrunched up in focus as he quickly swallowed a mouthful of sausage. Then, he closed his eyes and sighed. “She’s in deep hibernation. I checked the tattoo earlier—she’s still alive, but it’s faint…”

“Maybe we can consult with Professor Dumbledore over your quandary.” Amelia proposed lightly, gauging his reaction.

Harry frowned.

“I know of your distrust for the headmaster, but he’s the foremost expert on transfiguration and understands magic in ways we cannot begin to fathom. That alone is not urgent, and you can take your time to think it over. Regardless, the fire and the battle probably cannot be hidden for long, and there’s the matter of Lupin’s betrayal…”

Harry’s face darkened, and Juno all but hissed.

“The bastard is married to Greyback’s daughter,” Juno spat, her words laced with venom. “He was probably in cahoots with the werewolves for years now.” 

Amelia’s eyes grew distant. “The betrayal runs deeper than that. I’m almost certain he was a member of Dumbledore’s secret order. Anyway, I must return to Hogwarts and deal with the fallout.”

“Professor, let us get our story straight first,” Harry said with a cough. “We can consider consulting with the headmaster later. The truth is a bit too unbelievable, and, well, if some people know I can turn into a phoenix, it’s going to be troublesome, even if I lost all of my powers…”

“You did kill a significant number of Death Eaters and werewolves with your wand alone and then roast nearly a hundred more,” the deputy headmistress sighed. “Nobody should have seen me that evening, and if any werewolves think you’re dead, I can perhaps take the credit in public. It can be called an accident with Fiendfyre or some other obscure form of cursed flames…” 

“And it can be said that I suffered a backlash when trying to control them,” her friend murmured. “This can work…”

“What about those who got away?” Juno demanded. “About a dozen or so must have fled the flames.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched. “So what? It was the thick of the night, and all they might have seen was a creature of death and flame rise from Harry Potter’s burning corpse. Could have been an ancient spell, an obscure curse, or a dozen other things far more believable than the truth.”

“Make yourselves at home,” she had said before leaving for Hogwarts. “This house is secure, and nobody should know you’re here. Nobody but Prudence, who has sworn to keep everything secret.”

An hour later, only the two of them were left in Amelia’s house. 

Two prodigies, both crippled and unable to use their magic. But her affliction was temporary, while Harry…

Juno’s gaze fell on her friend, who was lazily sprawled on the sofa. He had been sitting there ever since he shoved enough food into his mouth to feed three grown wizards. She opened her mouth to apologise but struggled to find the words and closed it shut with a click. 

The silence was beginning to grow stifling. Juno didn’t know what to say. It pained her to see her usually driven friend so spiritless.

Harry had almost died because of her. No, he had been as good as dead, if not for that Animagus form. 

“Don’t feel too guilty,” Harry said, unblinkingly staring at the ceiling. “I’ve made worse mistakes than you did. Even so, if I could go back in time, I would probably make a similar choice. The plan was quite decent. Only, I’d probably stun Lupin first.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Juno said, clenching her jaw tight. “Neither could I. Lupin was probably the one who gave them the heads-up about the exact Hogsmeade date, since only the staff find out a full day early, while the students are informed the prior evening.” 

“It could have been Grimsby who set you up, too,” Harry pointed out languidly. “Not that I’m trying to say Lupin was innocent, but who’s to say that Potion master wasn’t in cahoots with your mother already? There are those who are of a similar mind with the Death Eaters and their ilk, and while they lack the courage to do vile things, they are happy to be of aid.”

“Forget it,” Juno said. “That’s not really important anymore. What will you do now?”

“Rest, probably,” Harry said. “My mind’s a scrambled mess, and it feels like my brain itself is aching, so I’ll take a good, long break.”

“You’ve more than earned it,” Juno said, doing her best to swallow the guilt twisting inside of her. Since the first time in Hogwarts, Harry had always been rushing to do one thing or another, or train himself both body and magic. “By the way, do you know what happened with Wally—”

A pop interrupted her mid-sentence, and Wally came, though his butler suit was singed.

“Mistress is back!” The elf bounced happily, giving her a wide smile. 

“Are you still connected with me?” Harry asked slowly, turning to face the elf.

“Err—the link with master Harry is broken,” the elf said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Last night, it burned out…”

“As long as you’re fine,” her friend said lazily, waving his hand.

“Wait, what?” Juno murmured, his gaze turning from Harry to Wally and back.

“Well, your elf was kind of dying—” Harry began, quickly explaining what had happened.

“Then, where do you get magic from now?” Juno asked curiously.

“From Hogwarts,” the elf said, ears drooping. “Mistress will take Wally back, right?”

A pair of big blue eyes blinked at her, beginning to tear.

“As soon as I recover my powers,” Juno promised. “But can you do me a favour, first?”

Now that she was somewhat rested, there were certain things she wanted to confirm. 

“Always, mistress!”

“First, go home and check on Mrs Norris. The poor thing must be worried because no one has cared for her for so long.” Juno waited until Wally nodded. “Then, head to House Black’s potion cabinet and bring me one truth thistle bloom, a shaving of unicorn hair, moondew extract, asphodel root, and…”

While Harry had taken a nap, Juno was toiling over a cauldron in the potion room. It wasn’t a particularly hard-to-brew potion, nor were the ingredients particularly rare, so things went without a hitch. 

Three hours later, she bottled two crystal vials and made her way to the basement, where Rodolphus Lestrange was tied up from head to toe in rope and put under a strong sleeping draught.

The basement was rather cold, and her sire looked pitiful. His proud face was growing gaunt, and strands of grey were sneaking into his dark hair. Bellatrix had not cared for her husband, nor were Amelia or Juno inclined to show him much compassion. 

“Lord Voldemort is your father.”

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind, and even though Juno believed it to be a ruse, a sham meant to unbalance her, the words still wiggled into her mind like a tireless worm that would not go away. She could read the emotions of others quite well, even without magic, and Bellatrix Lestrange had believed every word she had said. While the word of a madwoman was far from proof, and yet…

She needed to check for herself to know.

Plucking a strand of his greying hair, Juno uncorked one of the vials and gingerly slipped it in.

The purple potion swayed, growing fainter until it turned pink, then pinkish-white so pale it was transparent.

“That means no close relation,” Harry said, yawning from the doorway. His hair was a bigger mess than usual, but it somehow made him look more dashing.

“…Only if I brewed the potion right,” Juno said quietly. 

“You used your blood as a first ingredient, right?”

She was not too surprised that Harry knew of this particular potion and its function; he was sharp and slightly more capable in Potions than she was.

“Yes, it was the first ingredient.”

Harry gave her a lopsided smile. “Then, put a strand of your hair in. It should show you how related you are to yourself. A parent, sibling, or a child should be bright golden, so…”

“Aren’t… aren’t you going to ask why I am using a lineage potion on my father?” Juno asked shakily, not daring to meet Harry’s gaze.

“Well,” her friend scratched his brow, “only if you want to tell me.”

The breath in her throat hitched.

“Bellatrix… she claimed Rodolphus is not my father.” 

Juno felt her heart beat so fast that it threatened to escape her chest. She wanted to tell Harry everything, but what if he hated her, then? What if she were truly Voldemort’s daughter? The daughter of the monster who killed his parents? Would Harry forgive her? 

She remembered Harry’s form, bruised and blackened by spells and lightning. He had come for her when no one else had.

No, she could not lie, not in this. Juno owed Harry Potter too much.

“She claims I’m Voldemort’s daughter,” she whispered, lowering her gaze. Juno was afraid to look up now and see the hatred and loathing in Harry’s gaze. 

“I suspected as much,” came Harry’s bored voice, followed by another yawn.

“Wait,” Juno said, stunned. She lifted her head and looked at Harry, who met her gaze without blinking. There was no hatred in his eyes, no derision or loathing, just faint amusement and a sliver of exhaustion. “You… you knew?”

“Parseltongue is not exactly common,” Harry pointed out. “It’s a skill passed on by blood and magic, and the only lineage to wield it in Britain is Gaunt. Tom Riddle was the last with Gaunt blood to live, so…”

“But you have it too!”

“And I had a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul stuck in my head that was sort of eaten in a ritual,” was the exasperated reply as he tapped on his brow where his faint scar lay. “Go on, then. Use the other potion, and see if it’s any good or we’re just talking nonsense here.”

Juno swallowed heavily and plucked a strand of hair from her locks. Then, she cautiously pulled the cork out and dropped it in.

Purple swirled, turning the liquid into a bright gold.

“The potion works,” she said hoarsely. Juno felt faint. She wanted to disappear into the ground.

“This only proves that Rodolphus Lestrange is not your father, though,” Harry reassured. “Even if you are Voldemort’s daughter, so what?”

Her heart stilled. Deep down, she knew it to be true the moment the second lineage potion had worked. If Bellatrix Lestrange had cuckolded her husband, she would only do it with someone far more powerful. And very, very few outdid both the Lestrange heir and her mother in power. 

Lord Voldemort was her father. The sheer devotion her mother possessed for the Dark Lord was already a dead giveaway…

“You… you don’t hate me? My father is a murderer, and he killed your parents—”

“Are you your father?”

“No—”

“Will you betray me?” Harry pressed, stepping closer.

“Never!”

“Have you done anything with the intent to harm me?”

His green eyes were filled with earnestness there. There was no hatred, not even a ripple of dislike, let alone disgust.

“I haven’t,” she said, sniffing. Why? Why was she such a shameful, crying mess? Juno was supposed to be the Black of Black, the future Lady Black and… not Lestrange anymore. Not really.

The tightness in her chest eased. For the first time since the kidnapping, the feeling of guilt was gone. But in its place, something else arose as she looked at Harry Potter. Something warmer, something fiercer and far more possessive.

“Then, if Voldemort is your father, why should I care when it doesn’t change a damn thing?”

Juno lunged forward and slammed her lips into his. For half a second, she felt incredibly awkward. What if—

Harry froze for all of a second before he kissed her back just as fiercely. 

???

The air was choked with malevolence as a gaunt figure emerged from the shimmering cauldron, with skin as pale as bone, all through to his bald scalp, and infernal features.

Two crimson eyes settled on the kneeling figures in front. Seven months of preparations, hundreds of thousands of galleons spent, and he was not nearly as strong as before.

But he felt comfortable finally walking in human skin again. Lord Voldemort flexed his fingers, bending the magic to his will and forcing it to flow inside him. This body was strong, without any signs of instability, so regaining and surpassing his former strength was merely a question of time. He could feel the power thrumming through his veins, transcending the limit that had held so many back but far from what he had previously wielded. His mind felt clearer with a body now, and his emotions were easier to control.

It was as if a fog had fallen over his mind—even in the homunculus—his emotions had grown far more volatile. But now, his mind was crystal clear. Why hadn’t the diadem’s power taken effect as a wraith? Was it perhaps that it needed a fully developed brain?

He needed to regain his soul shards, too, but that was far from urgent. 

With a snap of his finger, a black robe covered his naked body.

“Rise,” he commanded.

His followers hastily stood up; some shuffled with unease, while others stank of excitement. They all had their little thoughts and schemes in their heads, but Lord Voldemort would let it slide. They had proven most loyal, and loyalty had to be rewarded.

“What is your bidding, master?” Barty Crouch Jr. was the first to speak, voice feverish and eyes blazing with joy. “Give me your command, and I will go out and deal with Dumbledore and the ICW!”

Lord Voldemort studied the wand in his hand. It was a paltry, weak thing made from birch with a core of kappa marrow. Not only did it not fit him and would struggle to bear his magic, but it was sloppy work, not something Ollivander would ever be seen touching. That was the best his minions had managed under the watchful eye of the DMLE and ICW.

“Now is not the time for haste, Barty,” he said softly. “Their time will come, but other matters take precedence.”

“There’s a plan in motion to deal with Potter,” Rookwood said, smiling viciously. “Greyback and Bellatrix vowed to bring you his head as a gift.”

Voldemort frowned. “And why would they do that?”

“Because, my lord, he… was the one to defeat you?” asked a fretful Amycus Carrow. 

“Not quite.” The Dark Lord tilted his head. “I know the story well enough, and the blind fools back home all bought the lie so eagerly, but it was not a toddler that got the better of me that day. It was Lily Potter using Olde Magic that saw to my undoing that day. She laid a clever trap for me, yes, but paid for it with her life.”

“Then… what of the Potter boy?” the young Crouch muttered, blinking.

“Nothing,” the Dark Lord said. The prophecy has been fulfilled, and the boy is no threat, but you do not need to know that. “The boy has potential. When the time is due, I will invite him to join our cause. But if he dies before then, he was not worth it.”

That seemed to ease their tension, but many still looked skittish. Afraid. They were all expecting him to start throwing curses again, were they?

When had he stopped rewarding those who excelled and started punishing just to vent his frustration?

It was no wonder the fall of Wizarding Britain had taken so long when his methods had become inefficient. Cruelty had to be carefully measured and aimed at the enemy first and foremost. Pain was a good motivator, but it could only drive one so far.

He had to do something about this inhuman appearance, too. A well-placed smile and a charming lie were just as deadly as the Killing Curse.

“Then…” Jugson cleared his throat and braced himself. “What shall we do now?” 

“First, I require a proper wand,” Lord Voldemort said, glancing at the piece of rubbish in his hand. “Find me the best wandmaker on the Continent. Just his location would do for now.”

Author’s Endnote:

A very confusing aftermath, part 1. You shouldn’t have expected Harry’s entry to phoenixdom to come easily, did you?

There will be far more consequences and ripples, but I couldn’t exactly shove them all in one chapter.

Obviously, Prudence Waffling is a new OC of mine.