49.Interlude-Tumultuous Summer

21st of June 1993

Monday (6 days later)

Sirius Black

He felt apprehensive about meeting with his old friend for the first time in over a decade. After Wormtail’s betrayal, a grain of doubt lingered in Sirius’s mind. For how long had Peter spied on them for Voldemort? Was it since they were in school? Did he ever truly know him? What about Remus? Sirius was unsure if his apprehension stemmed from meeting his friend after so long, or if he was just miffed it had taken a year and a half to finally get word from him.

Contrary to his expectations, Moony looked… lively.

“You’re looking well, Padfoot,” Remus greeted him from a side table as soon as Sirius entered.

They were at a Muggle pub in rural Kent called ‘The Hop and the Hare’, sharing it with only three patrons and the middle-aged, balding proprietor.

“Looking quite peppy yourself, Moony,” Sirius observed. Despite everything, he felt happy to see his old friend.

“I’ve been alone for a good part of the last ten years, but it wasn’t all that terrible,” was the surprisingly optimistic reply. His friend looked energetic, and his greying brown hair was recently cut in a plain yet clean style. He had a manly stubble that tried yet failed to hide the new claw scars on his face, and his clothes were plain but clean and undamaged. The most significant difference was his grey eyes, which seemed bright, as if the gloom that had dominated his friend’s life since Sirius could remember was dispelled.

“You haven’t started using dodgy substances like drugs, right?”

“What? No!”

Sirius felt bad for jumping to that conclusion, but he knew better than most how loneliness could drive a man insane, and Moony had always avoided interacting with others when he could.

The silence turned awkward as the two friends weren’t sure how to reconnect.

Remus was not the only one who had changed. A decade in Azkaban and the following year had left their mark on Sirius Black. He was no longer a hot-headed teenager, but a father, and had to think about the safety of his godson and newborn daughter. The two Marauders measured each other carefully. Moony was always difficult to read—even more so now—as his face betrayed little but a tinge of regret and some joy.

“You know, when I was acquitted of those crimes, I expected to see you visiting me in Saint Mungo’s.” Remus shuffled uneasily under the biting words, but Sirius continued. “I certainly didn’t expect the first person to write to me would be my eleven-year-old godson. Or that the first to visit would be my crotchety bastard of a grandfather, Arcturus. Even Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, came to apologise in person and promise me all of my legal troubles would be smoothed out and that the failings of the previous administration would be promptly repaired. But I didn’t care about most of those aside from Harry, you know? I expected to see you come around—if not immediately, then within a month or two. I searched for you for months and found no hair or even a whisper! I thought you were dead, Moony!”

The outburst only made the werewolf’s shoulders sag.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, bowing his head. “I was far away, Padfoot. Far away from Wizarding Britain or the wizarding world. As you know… I’m not exactly welcomed in polite society, nor can I linger for long, even in the Muggle world. The risk is too great. Five years ago, I almost killed a child during the full moon, and I have tried to stay away for the most part ever since. I’m not proud of what I did, Padfoot. It haunts me to this very day, even if I barely avoided biting the girl. The only thing that saved me from trouble later was that the Muggle parents thought it was a wild wolf attack.”

The blood in his veins chilled.

A year ago, Sirius Black would have just nodded his head and clapped his friend’s shoulder, telling him it was just bad luck. That it was a part of the dangers of being a lone werewolf, and that he needed to be more careful in the future. But he was now a father to a young baby girl. Mistakes and dangers could not be tolerated around Estelle. Unlike Harry, who was a veritable powerhouse in the making, a baby girl could hardly defend herself in case of a mishap.

“Accidents happen,” Sirius acknowledged neutrally. “Anyway, I’m glad to see you hale and healthy, Moony. But why now? Why return now?”

Remus grimaced, glancing at the mug of dry stout in front of him before emptying it in one breath.

“It’s a bit late, but I heard what happened.” The werewolf rubbed his face tiredly. “Merlin, I never thought Wormtail was capable of such cunning. Imagine my surprise when I heard you were guiltless and free, and that he was now rotting in Azkaban. I felt more guilty than relieved. I… I am sorry for doubting you. When they said you had betrayed James and Lily and little Harry, I didn’t question it. I just thought you had gone…”

“Mad, just like the rest of my family,” Sirius finished for him. The words felt bitter on his tongue, even if he understood where Moony was coming from. “You were far from the only one. Everyone thought that way. Everyone, including the people I fought with in the Order, my teachers, and the DMLE. Heck, we even thought you were the traitor back then. So… I forgive you, even though there’s nothing to forgive.”

Moony let out a hoarse chuckle. “Thanks. You have no idea how much that lightens my heart.” Then, his voice thickened with vitriol. “I only wish I were there to see that traitor Wormtail squirm in the Wizengamot and then be chucked into Azkaban.”

“Only to escape with the rest of Voldemort’s murderous cronies,” Sirius reminded grimly. “Who knows where Wormtail is scurrying around, up to no good again?”

“But everyone knows he is a Death Eater and a traitor now,” Remus growled. “A known spy has little use, and we both know Peter is a coward, probably hiding in some dark corner and hoping to escape unnoticed. If I ever get my hands on him…”

“I already made the mistake of chasing after Wormtail once, and I won’t be repeating it.” Truth be told, Sirius tried very hard not to think of the treacherous rat. Anger served no purpose to a lone father of two. “The days of fighting and doing missions for Dumbledore are behind me now.”

“That’s very unlike you,” his friend noted. “What happened to the bold Padfoot who feared nothing?”

“He spent a decade locked up with the dementors and grew out of it,” Sirius deadpanned. “I have many responsibilities now—I even taught Divination last year in Hogwarts, you know?”

“I’ve heard.” Remus chuckled as he shook his head. “I almost didn’t believe it, but in hindsight, it’s precisely the sort of thing you would teach. Divination is a subject that can be levied by any self-respecting purveyor of mischief.”

“That it is,” Sirius fondly agreed. “I even found a few kids who definitely have potential for it. Anyway, what are you up to nowadays?”

“A bit of foraging and pest control.” Lupin’s eyes grew distant. “Farm work and herding cattle, if you could believe it. It’s a hard but peaceful life and doesn’t require much work with people—if there’s one thing my… curse helps, it’s normal animals not daring to act funny around me. But once I heard you were innocent and free, I knew I had to return immediately. I’m back now!”

The expectations in those words settled like an uncomfortable weight on Sirius’ shoulders. The distance between the two Marauders was unmistakable, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to shorten it again. Was it because of the passage of time? Or perhaps it was because both of them were no longer the same young wizards they were over a decade ago? Sirius had spent a year believing Moony was dead and had already moved on. Reconnecting now was nice, but it felt unreal, like a half-forgotten old dream.

“I’m surprised Dumbledore hasn’t dragged you in to check up on those werewolves marauding around the continent,” Sirius probed cautiously.

“I can’t deny Dumbledore after all the aid and favours he has given me,” Remus said softly. Then, his voice hardened. “I do try to keep an eye on Greyback’s movements regardless. I always tried to do that, you know? Last I heard, he was in the Alps, moving towards the border between France and Germany, meeting with other packs and fighting their leaders for control.”

“I wish you luck, Moony,” Sirius offered with all the honesty he could muster. “But I would advise you not to let your debts to Dumbledore shackle you down forever. You certainly did more than enough during the war. How many lives did you save by risking your life in the werewolf packs?”

His friend looked uncomfortable and eventually shrugged.

“I have no idea.” Lupin turned to the bar and raised his voice. “Barman, another pint of dry stout, please!”

“Coming right up, mate,” the thickset bartender said, smiling broadly.

“Not going to drink?” Moony prodded, looking at the empty side of the table before Sirius.

“I swore off booze,” he explained, placing a hand on his heart.

“Not even a sip?”

“Not even a sip. I’m a responsible man now. A father to a baby girl named Estelle.”

“Congratulations,” his friend said before heading to the counter to pick up two more tankards of dark beer. “I was honestly surprised there’s not a small army of Mini-Padfoots running around Britain with the sheer number of women you slept with. A single child is quite tame.”

“I always took precautions,” Sirius defended himself. “This one was an accident. Admittedly, a happy one, but I never planned to be a father.”

Remus didn’t look like he believed him, but Sirius couldn’t fault his old friend. After all, he had been… nearly insatiable before. Many had called him the Lusty Dog of Gryffindor, and rightfully so. But Moony always knew not to press certain topics and instead asked, “What of the mother? Is she not in the picture?”

“Dead in an attack by that crazy Pyromancer in France. Now Estelle is left with me,” Sirius explained, unsure how to feel about that fling with the now-dead Veela. It felt like a lifetime ago. “But forget about me. What about you? Has there been a special someone? Perhaps a Mrs Moony?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Remus said with an almost goofy smile. Sirius’s mind came to a screeching halt, but his friend continued, “I have a wife now—Selene. And a handsome boy who is my whole world, called Liam. He turned two on the third of May.”

“Damn!” Sirius whistled, feeling pleasantly surprised. “And I thought I’d been busy.” Then, he leaned over and pinned Moony with a steely gaze. “Did you abandon them to come here?”

His friend choked as the sip he had just drunk went down the wrong pipe. “What? No!” Moony roared in indignation, gathering the attention of the other patrons and earning himself the annoyed glare of the proprietor.

Hastily, he lowered his voice, but the heat in his words was still there. “Nothing like that. Selene is a capable witch and can take care of herself and little Liam just fine. Only, I couldn’t exactly ignore you once I knew you were free, you know. If you wish, I can bring them over to meet you and your daughter sometime.”

“Estelle is too young to meet strangers,” Sirius declined instantly.

Remus was one thing, but a woman he had never met was dangerous, and so was their child. Besides, the Potter home was not his to invite strangers to, especially in these trying times. The fewer people who knew where they resided, the safer Harry and Estelle would be. This was why he spread the rumour that he and Harry Potter had moved to a private villa in Italy.

“…I understand your caution, but they’re not that dangerous, Sirius,” Moony said firmly, but there was some hurt in his eyes. “Liam hasn’t inherited my Lycanthropy—he certainly has an appetite for meat, even at such a young age, and a wild streak with too much energy, but nothing else. But my family is another reason I came here. Rearing cows and goats and farming isn’t exactly how I want my boy to spend his life. I came here to see if I can get some work.”

It didn’t escape Sirius that he said nothing of his wife.

“And only Dumbledore would offer gainful employment to a werewolf in Magical Britain,” he concluded knowingly, feeling all too exhausted from the meeting. When did seeing a friend turn into a tiring chore?

Decent work in the Muggle world had high requirements that were nearly impossible for wizards and witches to cover—even then, it was difficult for witches and wizards to hide their powers in the Muggle world. That incessant need to fix all your problems with a wave of your wand would haunt you at every step, and the first moment of weakness could bring the DMLE to your doorstep—especially if you were a registered werewolf. Sirius wasn’t foolish; he knew there was plenty of work for werewolves who lived on the edge of the law in Magical Britain and had grown bitter and hardened under the treatment of the Ministry and Wizard-folk. His own grandfather had employed werewolves as hired wands for extortion, coercion, blackmail, and probably even attacking some hapless souls who got on the wrong side of the Blacks. He wasn’t the only one, of course.

But such work was not something Moony would ever lower himself to, no matter how dire his situation.

“Pretty much. I always had a knack for teaching,” Remus said with a wan smile.

“Defence, then? Are you not afraid of the curse? What of your wife and child?”

“Nothing like that. I am safe, and so are they.” His friend waved frantically. “Funny you mention Defence, though. There’s some teacher named Alfred Perrywinkle teaching the subject. It’s going to be his second year—something unheard of for nearly thirty years. Dumbledore told me he believes the curse has been broken.”

The boring ex-auror had completely escaped Sirius’s attention. The old wizard was so dry and unassuming that your eyes and thoughts just slid over him. Sirius would not be surprised that even the curse missed him purely because of how dull he was.

“Oh damn. If not Defence, what will you teach, then?”

“History of Magic. The headmaster considers lessons of history instrumental so we do not repeat the mistakes of the past, and Binns has admittedly proven himself a poor teacher in that regard.” Moony turned pensive. “It’s a novel idea, but definitely something sorely needed after the war.”

“Sounds like something Dumbledore would think of. But hey, Moony, did you hear about the Wolfsbane Potion?”

“Wolfsbane?” his friend echoed cautiously. “Has someone made a potion to kill werewolves now?”

“Quite the opposite—it lets you remain lucid during a full moon. Nearly full control of your faculties while in wolf form. Heck, I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. But then again, Damocles Belby created it a few years ago, and I only know because Slughorn couldn’t stop praising his protege.”

“That Ravenclaw boy two years our senior?” Remus asked with wonder. And then, his face darkened. “Are you sure it works?”

Sirius gave his friend an odd look, but he knew the importance of such a potion to a werewolf. “It was reviewed and approved by the Ministry and the ICW’s Potions Masters, and Belby even received an Order of Merlin for creating the recipe.”

“This…” Moony grimaced as realisation dawned on his face. “Let me guess, it’s expensive and difficult to brew.”

“Got it in one.”

“…I have to try it,” Remus growled, but not as eagerly as he would have expected. “I hate to ask you, but could you lend me some money? I must try this new potion, but—”

“Sure,” Sirius agreed readily. “You should go to Pandora Lovegood. I know she has all the ingredients in stock. Just tell her I sent you and that you need someone to brew the potion, and she will help you.”

Moony’s face showed a conflicting smile. Was it because they had quarrelled just now? “You are a true friend, Sirius. Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” Sirius’s smile came out more like a grimace. “I can even let you bunk in my flat in Bristol.”

Despite everything, Moony was still his friend. Not as good a friend as he had previously thought, but they had gone together through too many things just to ignore.

“Where will you stay, then?”

“Away, outside of Wizarding Britain,” he vaguely said. For all the world, the previously secluded Potter Manor had long been destroyed, and all records of its location were scrubbed from public records. “I’ve found that secrecy is the best protection. I do have to look after Harry too, you know, especially with all those madmen on the loose again.”

“Yes, we cannot forget James and Lily’s son,” his friend agreed, his voice thickening with regret. “Dumbledore always told me he was safe when I asked. I wanted to try and take him with me, but I wasn’t in a position to raise a child, let alone Magical Britain’s saviour. They would have hunted me down like a rabid dog.”

The sad part was that Sirius wasn’t sure if the “they” referred to the Ministry of Magic or Voldemort’s followers… or both. But that doesn’t mean he was happy about it.

“You could have tried a little harder, you know.” Sirius’s apprehension that had bothered him for over a year slipped, and it was as if a dam had burst open. “The four of us were supposed to be like brothers. You were supposed to be his uncle Moony, and the boy doesn’t even know you! He was left with the nastiest sort of Muggles for ten years! Ten years, Moony, and not a single visit!”

Guilt flashed through Moon’s face, but it was quickly replaced with anger.

“I was not his godfather,” he said defensively. “And he is safe right now, is he not? You and I should know better than most that not all of us have the luxury of a happy childhood.”

Sirius was speechless. This was a low blow, and his friend did not look remotely ashamed. Was this how people drifted apart?

While he could understand Moony’s reasoning, he couldn’t accept it.

“I know I failed Harry. I know it better than anyone else. But that is why… that is why I thought I could rely on you, you know? But it’s not just that. It’s not just about me, but the Potters. After all the things the Potters did for you, this is how you repay them?” he barked out. “How many rules and laws did we break to help you in school, Remus? How many times have we covered for you?”

“You very well know the Ministry would have never allowed a werewolf to gain custody of the Boy-Who-Lived.”

Sirius was so angry that he laughed.

“Is that an excuse you tell yourself for taking the easy way out again? Even showing your face once or twice a year to visit should have been well within your capabilities. I know you can handle yourself in the Muggle world, Moony, even if Dumbledore never told you any specifics. You know of the Dursleys, and you know how to dig for information.”

That took the wind out of Moony’s sails, and he backed down with a sigh.

“You are right. I could have done more. Err, I will make up for it,” he offered weakly. “I was not in a very good place either, you know. I thought I lost two of my closest friends, and I thought the third one had turned traitor. My world had shattered, and I had nothing left. Nothing! You have no idea what it is to be a werewolf, Padfoot.”

Sirius felt bad now. His anger went away as quickly as it had come.

“Let us not speak of this any further,” he relented, swallowing down the pang of guilt.

Thankfully, his friend took the peace offering.

“My apologies. My temper has not been the best lately.” Remus’s eyes grew distant as he stared at the wall. “But you’re right; dwelling on the mistakes of the past is not productive.”

“Tell me more of your family, then,” Sirius said half-heartedly, feeling too tired to argue further.

A blush—a literal blush crawled up Remus’ cheeks as he started stammering.

“Erm. There’s not much to it,” he began in a tone that suggested otherwise. “Selene chanced upon me while I was bathing in a mountain creek…”

Sirius barely remembered the next half an hour as Moony waxed and waned about his wife, feeling more distant than anything else. This was not the friend he remembered. Or perhaps this was the very same friend all along, but he had been too blind to see it.

In the end, he still gave Remus the keys to the flat in Bristol and promised to meet again in the future when he was less busy. It remained to be seen if that moment would ever come again.

Sirius immediately left to shop for furniture, trying to distract himself from the lingering tension of the talk.

The sheer number of different colours and shades of chairs, desks, tables, drawers, and the like made his head spin, and in the end, he took everything in mahogany. It was quite expensive, but Sirius thought it looked pretty good and not in a gaudy way, so he didn’t care.

It was evening by the time he finished, and Sirius felt completely drained. Why was shopping so tiring?

But the sight of his godson and daughter instantly washed away all of his irritation and made it feel like it was all worth it. Harry’s face was scrunched up as he sat on the floor, with a small green flame wiggling from the tip of his wand as he began his foray into elemental magic. Estelle was giggling happily as the usually vicious Hedwig was stoically sitting on the edge of her crib, letting her white feathers get plucked by the baby Veela, who had already collected a fistful, much to Nyx’s chagrin.

LESTRANGE AND COMPANY STILL AT LARGE HALF A YEAR LATER!

By Betty Braithwaite, 25th of June 1993

Despite the DMLE’s best efforts, the notorious Death Eaters, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, and nearly fifty more dark wizards and hardened criminals, half of whom have been He Who Must Not Be Named’s loyal servants, still evade capture. Our anonymous DMLE correspondent estimates about twenty of them remain in Wizarding Britain under the command of Bellatrix Lestrange, while the rest have fled to the Continent. Just last month, Bellatrix Lestrange killed half of the inhabitants of a rural village in Shropshire and destroyed a Muggle church; amongst the slain was her granduncle, Marius Black, and his family, disowned for being a squib along with his immediate family. (More on the history of House Black on Page 4).

Ten days ago, three obliviators were killed in Norfolk while dealing with a case of accidental magic. A family of five Muggles were also killed, and the aftermath had the Ministry busy in the region for days. It’s estimated that Bellatrix Lestrange came very close to deliberately breaking the Statute of Secrecy. (More on the significance of the Statute of Secrecy on Page 3).

Three days ago, she struck again, ambushing an Auror patrol and killing Dorian Graves, Isolde Thornebrook, and Ronald Vexley, reminding Wizarding Britain why You-Know-Who’s most loyal followers were not to be underestimated.

In the past six months, it is said that Bellatrix Lestrange has personally killed at least twenty wizards, twice as many squibs, and over a hundred Muggles and survived a duel with Alastor Moody, also known as Mad-Eye Moody, before escaping.

DMLE director Rufus Scrimgeour has vowed to redouble his efforts to ‘deal with Bellatrix Lestrange no matter the cost’ once and for all, and just today, Minister Cornelius Fudge and the Wizengamot have approved a Kill-On-Sight order for Bellatrix Lestrange and a reward of five thousand galleons for her head, the reward ratified by the ICW on the following days who in turn offered another five thousand galleons for her role in nearly breaking the Statute of Secrecy. That is a ten-thousand-galleon reward just for Bellatrix Lestrange, but her other co-conspirators also have bounties of their own (More on bounties and the legal implications of sanctioned murder on Page 7).

The random Auror patrols in the Muggle neighbourhoods across the country have been strengthened in a bid to deter further attempts to break the Statute of Secrecy. The ICW has offered the services of additional Hit Wizards. Minister Fudge has promptly declined, saying that ‘they should focus on dealing with the few criminals on the continent instead of meddling in Britain’s affairs’.

Director Scrimgeour also urges the citizens of Magical Britain to bolster their home defences…

CLASH FOR FUNDING IN THE WIZENGAMOT! NEW TAX ON THE HORIZON DUE TO MINISTRY INCOMPETENCE?

The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has requested additional funding due to the current difficulties that Wizarding Britain faces. The Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement have also filed a request for a significant increase in staff and resources, but the Ministry budget has already been stretched to the limit, and the Wizengamot will vote on a new one-time tax in the coming week.

This comes after a controversial increase in value-added taxation implemented last November.

Some wizards and witches are understandably outraged.

“Not only did they fail to keep the damn murderers in prison and catch them after half a year, and now they want to take more of my hard-earned gold?!” A passerby loudly expressed his opinion in Diagon Alley.

Another witch threatened she would, “Move out of Wizarding Britain for good if those useless Ministry stooges keep running the country into the ground!”

The respectable Madame Augusta Longbottom swore that the Ministry would not get even a single knut from House Longbottom unless they pried it from her “cold, dead hands”.

The Goblins of Gringotts offered to lend over three million galleons, but their interest rate would cripple the Ministry for a decade. Many others are wary about borrowing money from other Wizarding Nations, many of whom were facing their own financial woes.

There are those who support the current ministry measures, however. “The Ministry should do everything in its power to deal with these murderers before they impact our way of life,” Lord Thaddeus Nott declared in a personal interview with the Daily Prophet. “The House of Nott will personally donate five thousand galleons to the Ministry’s coffers to tide them through these difficult times.”

“We cannot allow the Statute of Secrecy to be broken,” Lord Gallador Slynt, another hereditary Wizengamot member, said while urging the public to support the Ministry.

Despite previous accusations of support for You-Know-Who, many respectable families, including the Bones, the Abbots, the Malfoys, the Selwyns, the Mulcibers, and eleven more, have stood up to personally contribute to the fight from their own purses, totalling seventy thousand galleons.

While our experts calculated that the additional galleons would be enough to tide the deficit this year, the problem merely seems to be postponed, with no resolution in sight for the future…

BOY-WHO-LIVED TURNS THIRTEEN!

By special correspondent Rita Skeeter, 31st of July 1993

Today is a very special day. Wizarding Britain celebrates thirteen years since the birth of our illustrious icon, Harry James Potter, who vanquished You-Know-Who on the night of October 31st, 1981. Despite former Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore’s efforts to keep the boy’s life private using the Gag Order Act of ’82, the son of James and Lily Potter has excelled just like his parents. (More on the Gag Order Act of ’82 on Page 3).

In his first year, Harry James Potter took the undisputed top spot in every subject in Hogwarts, making him the model student of the year, the first to do that in over fifty years! That is not all, for we have sources in the DMLE that confirm that young Harry had single-handedly killed two of the seven trolls in the troll accident on All Hallow’s Eve, orchestrated by the evil Potions Master Severus Snape. (More on Severus Snape and House Prince on Page 5).

Then, in the summer of ’92, our young hero came under the international spotlight in Corsica, where he bested the International runner-up in the under-seventeen duelling, Angelo Oliveira, despite being five years younger. Such an important victory rekindled interest in the noble art of duelling in Wizarding Britain. (More on how to get started on duelling for novices on Page 12)

While his skills with a wand are not in question, Harry Potter has regrettably not shown further interest in duelling despite his outstanding talents and promising performance, disappointing the expectations of many ardent fans.

Then, just a few months ago, our sources say that young Mr Potter took his O.W.L.s with nine ‘Outstanding’, a feat that defeats the previous record held by the current headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, who took these exams in his third year, according to the records in the W.E.A.

Of course, it is not all sunshine and rainbows, for our beloved prodigy hides a far darker side. His close friendship with the daughter of the infamous murderer Bellatrix Lestrange casts a dark shadow on his spotless record. Should such a bright young man be left under such dark influence?

Neither Harry Potter nor his guardian, infamous playboy and former Divination Professor Sirius Black, could be found for a comment and have not answered our owl requests for an interview. Some even claim that Harry Potter has fled Magical Britain to escape the Death Eaters, moving across the pond…

Dementors cleared of all suspicion!

By special reporter Octavia Brightmoor, 14th of August 1993

After nine months of rigorous DMLE and DoM investigation into the Mass Azkaban Breakout, it has been confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Dementors have not played a role in the escape of prisoners. Their presence had been ‘repelled’ due to a mistake in the newly made Animagus Suppression cells, according to the official DMLE spokesperson.

Of course, many in the Wizengamot are quick to pin the blame on the secretive Department of Mysteries, but the shadowy head of the Unspeakables complained that they could only do so much so quickly when they’re understaffed and underfunded. It has been nearly half a year since Azkaban’s defences have been heavily revamped and strengthened, and it is ready to house prisoners again. Of course, even nearly nine months later, the public has yet to receive any accountability for this severe breach of security. (More on the Department of Mysteries on Page 4).

With the review of the dementors and doubts of their obedience to the Ministry of Wizarding Britain assuaged, the Minister has agreed to employ dementors across the British Isles to bolster the searching efforts for Bellatrix Lestrange and her accomplices, all of whom have a Kiss-On-Sight order. (More on the history and origins of dementors on Page 7).

Headmaster Dumbledore has vehemently declined an offer to station dementors to protect Hogwarts in the coming school year…

Unrest on the Continent! Werewolves in Magical France and Barty Crouch Jr. and other Azkaban escapees in Albania!

By Betty Braithwaite, 19th of August 1993

In the swing of summer, it seems that Wizarding Britain isn’t alone in facing troubles with Dark Wizards and other dangerous elements.

Ascalon Emberwick, the infamous Pyromancer, has entered Spain and killed three of the local Aurors and two Hit Wizards after a fiery duel in the Muggle village of Umralejo and has received a bounty of 2000 Peseta by the Spanish Ministry of Magic (worth 2500 Galleons in British Currency) and the ICW has established a task force to hunt him down! (More on the origins of Emberwick on Page 6).

…The giants in the Scandes have started leaving their mountainous adobes, raising concerns with the local wizards.

…Something has stirred the werewolves of Europe. A large coalition of werewolf packs entered France, including those led by the infamous murderer Fenrir Greyback. The French Ministry of Magical Affairs claims the situation is under control, but none of their Aurors seem to have apprehended any werewolves. Despite the claims of the French spokesperson, there are concerns about Magical France’s ability to deal with what is estimated to be at least three thousand werewolves, about half of the total werewolf population on the continent. (More on the Crimes of Fenrir Greyback and the dangers of werewolves on Page 8)

Two international news correspondents have gone missing on the continent—one in Germany and another in Austria. ICW officials promise further investigation on the matter, but it is a question of whether they have the manpower to spare.

Death Eaters, led by Barty Crouch Jr., were last spotted in Albania two weeks ago, and there are suspicions they have set a foothold in the region unmolested, despite the local authorities’ assurances to the contrary. The region is especially dangerous due to the ongoing civil war in the Muggle country of Yugoslavia. (More on the Crouch Scandal on Page 13).

The DMLE suggests that those seeking to holiday in mainland Europe should reconsider in favour of more peaceful destinations like the Colonies or Australia.

1st of September 1993

Wednesday (72 days later)

Draco Malfoy

A flash of lightning echoed, and soon enough, the pittering rain was deafened by the following thunderclap.

“And remember what we told you, Draco,” his mother whispered, her face a stern mask as usual. “Because of your Aunt’s madness, we are under heavy scrutiny, and House Malfoy must keep our public image pristine. Your every action and each word reflect on us.”

“I haven’t forgotten the seven DMLE visits, Mother,” Draco muttered, swallowing down his irritation. “Nor the bag of gold Father had to donate to the government, so we can be left alone.”

Narcissa Malfoy’s lips thinned so much that Draco unconsciously took a step back. “You have yet to give me your word, Draco. Have you forgotten your manners, my dear?”

“I promise to comport myself with the dignity and restraint befitting the scion of House Malfoy,” he vowed solemnly.

This summer had not been as relaxing or exciting as he had hoped. Contrary to popular belief, Draco was not blind and could see that his aunt’s rampage damaged the prestige of proper pureblood families like his own. Public Galas and Balls were cancelled or moved to the Ministry, and all of his father’s friends seemed to be cautious and subdued when they visited. His mother’s tea parties were an even stiffer affair than usual, and all of her lady friends seemed to be in an openly foul mood.

House Malfoy’s standing was on shaky ground, and it showed when Damien Greengrass managed to gather significant support amongst the Slytherins at the end of last year. But even that was not nearly as bad when Draco realised that all of the previous… attention his parents had given him had gone to his little devil of a sister. His parents were all doting on Callisto, even though she was small, and all she did was cry, eat, and sleep.

Draco was still annoyed, even if babies were supposed to cry.

When he requested to go on a proper holiday, his parents sent him to a duelling summer camp in the South American jungles, where a demoness under the name of Juliana Oliveira took special joy in humiliating him in duels. The directors kept giving him nasty menial tasks befitting of servants to ‘toughen his Pasty English Arse up’. The young sister of that international duelling star Harry had defeated last summer definitely had a bone to pick with him, and there was nobody he could turn to for help. No matter how much Draco complained to the staff, he couldn’t leave.

The betrayal he felt when his parents refused to pick him up earlier still weighed on his mind.

There was a slight… result from the whole affair, as his duelling skills were considerably better by the time he left, if at the expense of his bruised pride. Still, Draco had sworn he would never set foot in any jungle ever again, no matter what—the bugs that got everywhere and snakes alone were nearly enough to have him swear never to leave Britain again. He had not been the only one forced to undertake summer camps. Crabbe and Goyle had almost failed all of their end-of-year exams and were in danger of repeating the school year, and his minions had been sent to study camps in the Colonies.

Last but not least was the part of that hushed conversation his parents had in his father’s study. He had totally not eavesdropped on it because such baser methods were beneath the dignity of a Malfoy. For good or bad, the topic of the matter instantly grabbed his attention.

“The Dark Lord might return for real this time,” his mother had said. “Everything we have built here might be put in danger.”

Draco felt confused. The Dark Lord was supposed to be dead. Were they even speaking about Lord Voldemort? No, it could only be him. No other Dark Lord was even brought up in the House of Malfoy, nor were they involved with other dark wizards powerful enough to be called such.

There was only one small problem—his mother’s tone had only bewildered him further. Shouldn’t the return of the lauded Dark Lord be a good thing?

There was no reverence in Narcissa Malfoy’s voice. No joy or anticipation, merely caution and dread. Contrary to what he expected, his father had not chided her.

“I know,” Lucius had agreed instead, voice shaky. “I know it all too well. And because of that possibility, I have no choice but to help them along subtly, no matter how much I loathe it. The only thing he loathes more than incompetence is treason.”

“It’s merely another tune to dance to, I suppose, if far more dangerous. You’ve done it before, and you shall do it again.”

Then, it struck him. His parents dreaded the return of the Dark Lord. Draco wasn’t sure why, but the reluctance and the fear unnerved him even now.

Draco shook his head and boarded the Hogwarts Express. Since he was over half an hour early to avoid any undue attention, he found all the compartments empty except an Auror patrol, who met him in the corridor.

There were two of them, a witch and a wizard, with their faces obscured by a charm, but the golden auror badges on their chests were unmistakable, as was the suspicion practically dripping off them when they looked his way. For a moment, they paused as if deliberating whether to interrogate him, but thankfully decided otherwise.

This was not how respectable members of society like himself were supposed to be treated!

Just as he finally managed to swallow his indignation, he chanced upon another early-comer on the Hogwarts Express. It was Harry’s Mudblood pet, Diana Taylor.

Admittedly, it was hard to tell she was a Mudblood with her pristine black robes of acromantula silk and prim and proper appearance. She also knew when to stay quiet and unassuming, having a surprising amount of tact to know her place.

Draco would have said it was a friendship out of pity, an obligation Harry Potter had taken on himself for the sake of publicity, but Diana Taylor was surprisingly capable. Certainly more capable than Crabbe and Goyle or any of the minions Greengrass was bossing around. Worse, she was better than Draco where magic was concerned, and he knew that Harry had not helped her beyond a few tips. Taylor had gotten second place in the exams last year, along with that mannerless Gryffindor bint that strutted around as if the Wizarding World owed her something.

Needless to say, this was his first time alone with the Mudblood. They had barely exchanged a word before. For some reason, Draco felt that Diana Taylor looked a bit sad and lonely right now, despite being friends with half of the Ravenclaws in her year.

Before he knew it, he tugged open the compartment door.

“Oh, hello, Malfoy,” she greeted him cautiously, her amber eyes darting to the hallway. “I see your usual companions are absent.”

The Mudblood’s casual tone irked Malfoy, but there was no hint of arrogance or even the disdain and suspicion he had suffered during the summer. He found it refreshing, and he absolutely didn’t find himself fascinated by the colour of her dark reddish hair.

How could a shade of rust look so… gorgeous? And on a Mudblood at that?!

“Er, morning, Taylor,” he said dumbly, cursing himself inwardly. A Malfoy was not supposed to be tongue-tied in front of a Mudblood! Shaking his head, he struggled to remember all of his lessons on manners and courtesies, but his mind was blank. “Erm… Crabbe and Goyle are not renowned for their punctuality.”

Diana’s lips twitched with amusement, and her clear, tinkling laugh pulled something in his chest. They stared awkwardly at each other for what felt like an hour, but it was most likely only a minute before the girl said, “So, why are you here? I reckon the whole train is empty this early.”

“Well,” Draco coughed, “like you said, the train is empty aside from those Aurors. As for why I’m here… I saw you and didn’t feel like being glared at by those Aurors, so I just came in to say hello.”

“I thought you didn’t like me much,” she said, voice painfully earnest.

“No such thing,” Draco denied vehemently, panicking inwardly. How did one speak to a Mudblood—no, a Muggle-born, properly? He was starting to grow desperate until he remembered Harry’s advice on honesty. “…I merely never talked to one such as you.”

“Such as me?”

“Err, Mu-Muggle-born,” he said weakly, feeling the heat rush up his cheeks.

Diana tilted her head. “Well, I’d like to think I’m just a normal girl who also happens to be blessed with magic like any witch. Do I look any different from other pureblood witches?”

“Yes—I-I mean, n-not at all. As in, sure, at first glance, anyone would think you’re pureblood as well with how pr—I mean, composed and well-mannered you are.” The more Draco spoke, the more foolish he felt, even if he could not tear his eyes away from the girl’s pretty face, vibrant eyes, or luscious hair. What was wrong with him? “What I mean to say is…”

Draco clenched his jaw as he tried to think of something to say, yet his mind failed him.

How the hell Harry had made so many female friends so easily? Draco could barely form a coherent sentence and—

“Er, you look a bit pale. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Only an unintelligible grunt left his mouth as Draco’s mind felt like mush. He was busy having an existential crisis right now.

That was not the attitude of someone who was stealing magic from upstanding members of Wizarding Britain. Diana Taylor did not look like she could steal even a children’s book, despite being a Ravenclaw. Worse, she was far more pleasant than the half-blood Davis or Milicent, who could scare a troll with her grunting speech.

If Mudbloods were an affront to everything pureblood society stood for, then why was Taylor so… pretty? Beauty was the sign of virtue and goodness! Courtesy and obedience, too!

The more Draco looked at Diana Taylor, the more he found himself questioning everything his parents had taught him. Why was it all so conflicting? He flinched as he realised the Ravenclaw witch was looking at him with increased amusement.

His mind raced for something to switch the topic to. Anything. “Earlier… earlier, you looked a bit conflicted?”

Diana’s smile wilted, and Draco cursed himself inwardly.

“This violence in Wizarding Britain has worried my parents greatly.” The red-haired girl looked… resigned. “All those attacks and the murders that just won’t stop. It’s almost like the wars I’ve seen in the Balkans on the telly. My father wanted to move to Australia and have me study in the magical academy there, but I barely convinced him to keep attending Hogwarts with Juno’s advice and reassurances.”

She looked so small and so vulnerable, then, and Draco wanted to console her. There was one tiny problem: he had no idea how to do that!

“Don’t worry,” he assuaged righteously, patting his chest. “Those dangerous elements disrupting the peace of Wizarding Britain shall be dealt with!”

Heat rushed to his face as the declaration was met with an amused giggle. But it was not the mocking sort of giggle he often heard from Pansy or Greengrass, but one of genuine amusement.

“God, you’re a funny one, aren’t you?” she asked, her chest still shaking with laughter. “And I thought you were one of those stuffy boys with a stick up their bum. No, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he gave her a hesitant grin. “But err—what are you thanking me for, Taylor?”

“For caring. For showing me that Muggle-borns like me aren’t just undesirables most wizards want to get rid of.” The earnest words felt like a stab in his chest with a knife. And then, Diana decided to twist that knife. “I’m not that stupid. I can feel the silent judgement in their stares at school, you know? I’ve seen it in your eyes before, in the rare cases when you tried to avoid looking at me.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“No, no, don’t apologise!” Diana waved energetically. “It’s not my first time being on the receiving end of prejudice. In school—Muggle school, I had quite a lot of trouble, you know? It makes me angry just remembering it. But, well, we were barely acquainted before, and you don’t seem that bad.”

She spoke, and she spoke easily, of her childhood and problems with fitting in with the Muggles in Muggle school and how they were envious of her status and family wealth. It was a queer conundrum, being with one foot in the Muggle world and the other in the wizarding world, and not fitting in either. Then came the wondrous tales of the Muggle world that were as fascinating as they were horrifying, for Draco struggled to believe half of the things she was telling him. A feeling of dread arose in his chest when he realised that chatting with Diana Taylor was far more engrossing than his time spent with the dull tedium he endured in Slytherin, together with Theo, Pansy, and his minions.

If anyone saw him right now consorting with a Muggle-born like this, he would become the butt of the joke in Slytherin, and he wouldn’t be able to explain himself or ever recoup his reputation. And his parents… his parents would be terrified. Worse, their displeasure and subsequent punishment wouldn’t be light.

Or would they applaud him for approaching Harry Potter’s Muggle-born friend and showing the world he could play the white knight just as well?

Somehow, Draco couldn’t bring himself to care, at least not right now.

The conversation died when a tangible heaviness appeared in the air as if it had solidified, making it hard to breathe. When the compartment door opened to reveal Harry Potter, Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

The summer had been generous to the Boy Who Lived. He was now a whole inch taller than Draco, his shoulders were as broad as a Quidditch player’s, and his eyes were blazing with determination. Draco Malfoy had seen all sorts of witches and wizards visit his father, and he just knew it in his gut then. In just three short months, Harry Potter had grown significantly more dangerous, and his presence alone felt oppressive in the small compartment.

At that moment, Draco realised that regardless of what happened, he was going to hedge his bets on the Boy Who Lived, Dark Lords rising from the dead or not.