58.Swirling Inferno

Corruption or Incompetence? The Ministry’s play for House Black and Lestrange’s seats!

By our correspondent Kateris Tree

While certain elements claim the attack on Hogsmeade was a premeditated murder and a bold escape, I have unearthed new evidence. Further exploration of that day—including memories provided to me by a handful of witnesses on the scene—suggests that Lady Juno Bellatrix Black has been kidnapped by unknown assailants.

“Miss Black has never broken a rule during her stay in school,” confessed Charms Master Fillius Flitwick, Juno’s head of house. “She is hard-working and honest.” 

The Ministry has used her absence to pin down two murders on her in preparation to make a play for the seats of House Lestrange and Black and divert attention from their incompetence in catching the notorious criminal Bellatrix Black and her murderous gang. But the rabbit hole goes deeper—a pureblood scion like the young Lady Juno has no guardians, and the Ministry is not only encroaching on lords and ladies’ rights but attempting to pull yet another ‘Sirius Black’ case, turning the innocent into guilty out of sheer expediency.

Further interests suggest that Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge plans to seize the Black and Lestrange fortunes after the trial in absentia to fill the budget gap and his own coffers. Sadly, the Minister could not be found for a comment—

4th of May 1994, Friday (2 days later)

Harry

He placed his wand on Wally’s bony shoulder and kept channelling his magic repeatedly. Juno’s elf still looked like he had one foot in the grave. For all Harry’s efforts, the situation had not improved in any way besides prolonging the elf’s life.. That alone required an increasing amount of magic to keep him alive, but today, Harry was determined to try something different, something dangerous.

Something that might help Wally and, most importantly, help him pinpoint Juno’s location—or perhaps give him a way to save her.

His yew wand burned from the sheer amount of magic Harry was channelling through it, but after three years of diligent training, magic was one thing he had in abundance. 

Nyx stirred from under his skin, pooling her powers with his.

It wasn’t long before the elf’s flesh started to glow, and his skin filled out with visible speed, as the muscles beneath regrew.

By the time Harry was done, the elf looked… normal.

Wally groaned and finally stirred from the floor, big eyes open wide.

“Ah,” he sniffled, slamming his head onto the Chamber’s floor. “Wally is bad! Wally has betrayed his mistress!”

Then, the elf raised his head as if to slam his head again.

“Stop,” Harry said sharply. The elf halted abruptly, turning to look at Harry with tearful eyes. “Explain yourself.”

The elf tearfully swallowed.

“M-Master Harry’s magic replaced the connection,” Wally murmured weakly. “Mistress Juno is no longer my mistress. Wally was stolen, like a bad elf!”

Then, Wally turned to slam his head on the floor again.

“Stop,” Harry repeated with exasperation. Then, he rubbed his face tiredly. He did not mean to do this. “Can you… can you sense Juno? Or perhaps even go to her side?”

“Mistress’s magic has been replaced by yours,” was the harsh reply. The elf looked ready to cry again. “Wally can’t sense her anymore.”

So he had failed. Each house elf could sense their master and go to them when needed. Harry had planned to use that ability to ‘sneak’ Juno out directly, but…

No, it was no matter. Saving the elf was worthwhile in itself. There would be other ways to find Juno, even if Wally’s new situation wasn’t something Harry intended.

He squeezed Wally’s shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry. Juno will be your mistress again once I save her.”

A pair of big, teary eyes looked at him, now filled with hope. “Really?”

“Really.” Harry exhaled slowly. “I already have an elf, so I don’t need another. Just keep doing whatever you did before and you’ll hear nothing from me, alright?”

“Yes, Master Harry.”

The elf popped away with a smile. Disappointments were an old friend to Harry, but that did not make it less annoying. Sighing, he slipped out of the Chamber of Secrets. In the past few days, his friends from the D.A. had found over thirty ways to ‘locate’ a person or an item, and not one worked on Juno. As he suspected, she was all too well-hidden, veiled by magic.

The Death Eaters had survived the Ministry hunt for nearly a year and a half were the most competent and vicious wizards the British Isles had to offer, after all. To expect mere school children to succeed where the Ministry’s finest failed was ludicrous.

Still, that did not make his frustration go away. 

He missed Juno. A part of him was afraid something had happened to her. With Rita poking at the Ministry, a hornet’s nest had stirred, but the scheduled trial for the murder of Grimsby and Madam Rosmerta still remained, only adding to his frustration.

Who knew how the Death Eaters would react?

“Harry, where are you going?” Draco’s voice echoed, halting Harry in the hallway.

“Magic practice,” he said flatly. There was not much to do, and training was the only thing that could make him forget that his friend was in danger.

That Juno might very well be gone for good if she were not found soon enough. There were too many ways to mess with the mind of a witch…

Harry turned around to see Malfoy standing together with the three Greengrass siblings. Even Ralina Selwyn was with them. This was the only time Harry had seen Draco with Damien Greengrass in school outside of the study club.

“What about our weekly meeting?” asked Astoria.

“I…” Harry swallowed heavily. They had not held a study meeting since Juno had been caught.

Truth be told, he had no mind or will to teach others since. Even if Harry could lead the club and go through the planned lessons, it just wouldn’t have been the same without Juno. Worse, he was too restless to focus on distractions, even when clamping down on his emotions with Occlumency.

“We’ll do it on Wednesday evening,” he said at last. No matter how reluctant Harry was, he could not afford to give up or stop. “And bring duelling robes if you have any. Let the others know, will you?”

He really needed to get an enchanted galleon or something similar to what D.A. had used in his last life.

Harry turned to leave, went around the bend for the nearby staircase, but footsteps echoed behind him.

It was Draco again.

“Haven’t seen you in any of our shared classes this week,” he said, sounding genuinely worried.

“We only share two classes,” Harry replied. “Flitwick allowed me to skip classes after I passed the end-of-the-year Charms exam, and Professor Bones excused me for the rest of the week.”

“Drats,” Draco tutted. “You sound like you don’t really need classes anymore.”

“…That’s not true.”

Truth be told, he did not need to stay in Hogwarts anymore. With a few months of hard study, he was confident enough to take his N.E.W.T.s with good grades, and seventh-year classes were something he would benefit from, but… leaving the school never crossed his mind. 

There was much knowledge he had yet to learn in the library, and… for all that he had suffered, Hogwarts was home.

Harry was genuinely reluctant to leave, and a part of him had been planning to take his N.E.W.T.s together with Juno and then leave together…

Draco cleared his throat, leaning in to whisper, “Anyway, Mother said to pass you on a message. I don’t know what you’re doing, but be careful. Aunt Bellatrix likely won’t harm Juno.”

Something slid into Harry’s pocket as Draco walked away, trying to look particularly innocent as he headed for the dungeons.

Harry looked around warily, but found no other students nearby. He begrudgingly slipped into the nearby abandoned classroom and reached for his robe’s pocket.

It was a small piece of parchment. Only a single sentence was written, but the words made Harry’s heart skip a beat.

‘I think I found the location.’

5th of May 1994, Sunday (the next day)

Harry snuck into Malfoy Manor at the crack of dawn, again dressed for battle in his basilisk hide robes. He was armed to the teeth with Portkeys, potions, Essence of Dittany, and an invisibility cloak he had borrowed from Rita.

Of course, Harry had not come to fight, but being cautious never hurt. He had learned his lesson last time, and now, he would not be tilted off balance by Lady Malfoy. 

Calisto Malfoy blinked at him with a pair of grey eyes from the crib. A small, blonde tuft of hair covered her pale face. She reached her small, chubby arms at him and gurgled. 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the toddler.

The baby gurgled again, kicking her feet as her face scrunched up unhappily. 

“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured as he carefully picked her up from the crib. “As expected of a Malfoy.” 

Harry could already imagine a Draco with knockers running around in a decade or two and winced at the mental image. Much like her brother, Calisto knew when she was outmatched and stilled her fussing when Harry picked her up. Her wide eyes did not leave his face, as if she had found him to be the biggest curiosity ever.

Perhaps he really was, considering the baby was under a year old, and Narcissa Malfoy did not strike him like the sort to take out her child in a stroller.

“Dobby, bring me some milk for a baby, please,” Harry murmured, and a crystal flask popped into his free hand after half a minute.

Calisto’s eyes lit up at the sight of the fresh milk, and she whined as she eagerly reached for the bottle. The whine turned into a wail when she failed to reach it, and Harry counted to three until plugging her mouth with the bottle. 

An elf popped in, but Harry petrified him with a wave of his hand.

Sure enough, Narcissa Malfoy rushed into the room within a minute—this time with her sleeping robes being properly fastened—and froze.

“Potter,” she acknowledged with forced calm, but her eyes did not leave her daughter, who was snuggled in Harry’s hands. “I expected you at a more… proper time.” 

“I owed you for that stunt you pulled last time,” Harry said flatly. “Funny you should mention propriety.”

Narcissa was not amused.

“You broke the manor’s protections when you Disapparated last time.”

“I could have left through the gate or the Floo Network, if someone wasn’t being such a terrible tease, Auntie Narcissa,” he shot back mercilessly. “I’m still not sure if you are attempting to seduce me or to mother me.”

Narcissa let out an aggravated sigh. “I confess I might have been a little bit bored as of late.”

“I recommend duelling, then.” Harry gave her a smile full of teeth. “It’s about as effective at venting your frustrations and dispelling boredom by winding up teenage wizards. There should be a duelling room here, in Malfoy Manor. But you alone are not enough. You can call Lucius, too, to even the odds.”

His words were innocent enough, but the flare of his magic wasn’t, and Narcissa swallowed, stepping back. 

“What’s in that milk?” she asked instead, eyes flicking at the bottle in her daughter’s hands.

“Dunno,” Harry said. “Same stuff Sirius prepares for Estelle, my own goddaughter, so it should be good for Calisto too.”

Calisto chose that moment to burp happily.

Narcissa murmured something that sounded suspiciously like ‘mongrel half-breed’ before her face hardened.

“Very well,” Narcissa muttered with a tone that suggested nothing was well. “Let us get to business, then. I see you have put significant pressure on the Ministry. Quite a vicious move from someone so young.”

The sharp change of topic was meant to unbalance him, Harry suspected. 

“The innocent have nothing to fear from me, you know. But I didn’t come here to discuss the Ministry. You said you’ve finally found a trace of Juno’s whereabouts.”

“That I have,” she said at last. “They should have moved recently, and House Malfoy’s sources noticed a sharp uptake of supply purchases near Brechfa Forest in southern Wales, which is uncommon for the season. Resources and supplies like dittany, rolls of parchment, and a large quantity of food—a combination exclusively used by magicals. It could just be the werewolves moving with the significant amount of purchased meat, of course.”

“That must annoy you,” Harry prodded. “Funding Voldemort’s cause with your husband’s money.”

Narcissa sighed and made her way to the nearest chair. “It does,” she admitted as she eased down on the seat and closed her eyes. “But most of the galleons are funnelled into the continent. My sister, her thugs, and the mongrels are on their own, for the risk of exposure when dealing with them had already become too high last year.”

It also explained why she was so willing to Obliviate her husband.

“How reliable is your source?” Harry asked as he placed the whining Calisto back in the crib.

The sharpness in Narcissa’s eyes finally faded.

“Should be good enough,” she said. “Truth be told, they wouldn’t have noticed anything if I hadn’t told them to look. Nobody looks into the Muggle world. Regardless, I have procured a map with pictures of the region, should you require Apparition points. But you should move swiftly—I bet my sister and the werewolves are moving around at least once every week or two to avoid detection, so…”

Amelia Bones

She did not expect Harry Potter to walk into her office in the evening, dressed in a battle robe covered with poisonous green scales, the same colour as his eyes. His shoulders were tense too, and his face was a grim mask thick with resolve.

“Mr Potter,” she greeted. “You look ready for battle.”

“Because I am,” was the emotionless reply. “I have a lead on Juno’s location.”

That got all of her attention.

“Is it trustworthy?” Amelia asked, spinning her wand to block all sound from her office.

Harry hesitated for half a minute before replying, “Somewhat. I intend to go and check it myself, right away. Has Professor Dumbledore returned yet?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said with an aggravated sigh. “Cornelius Fudge has gotten hold of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, and has pressed the headmaster to facilitate the talks.”

Harry jerked away as if burned. “The Triwizard Tournament?”

“Oh, you’ve heard of it?” Amelia asked, quirking an eyebrow. A part of her was not surprised that the young wizard was familiar with the obscure tournament. Harry Potter always knew more than he showed, and he was always either reading or training.

“You can say that. Why else would these three particular schools ever be mentioned in the same sentence?” was the cool reply. “Can the Minister even afford to get Hogwarts to host the games with so many criminals on the run?”

Amelia laughed wryly. 

“Of course. Thanks to actually being connected to the continent, Magical France has bigger problems than Magical Britain. Far more werewolves, too. And Durmstrang… they like their secrecy and isolation far too much to break it after hundreds of years, even with the tournament. Keep in mind that the Ministry did apprehend and kill a vast majority of the dark wizards on the run, so Britain is far safer than before.”

“Why now?” Harry asked almost desperately.

A tired sigh rolled off her lips as she wondered how to explain the brewing mess. But lies would not do; Harry Potter was young, but he was sharp. Too sharp to be deceived by half-truths.

“That’s a question I asked myself many times,” she said at last. “I believe it’s meant as a distraction. A successful tournament will be quite a boon for Magical Britain and further enhance Fudge’s power and prestige. It’s also a display of strength, showing the world that Magical Britain is flourishing and Hogwarts is still the greatest institution of witchcraft and wizardry in the world.”

“Wasn’t the tournament host drawn by lots?”

“Not really. The schools used to take turns to host it on a rotational basis every five years before it stopped, and now it should be Hogwarts’ turn.” Amelia took a sip from her tea and adjusted her monocle to hide her annoyance. The tea had grown cold. A tap of her wand rectified that problem, but the taste would no longer be the same after heating it twice. “Regardless, it’s unknown when Professor Dumbledore will return, and I suspect his previous business on the continent has yet to end.”

“So I’m on my own,” Harry concluded. There was no anger or reluctance or even hopelessness, merely… acceptance as if he had never expected to rely on Dumbledore.

“We’re on our own,” she corrected gently. “I promised to help you with saving young Miss Black.” 

“Thank you, professor,” he said, his voice thick as he bowed his head.

Amelia’s heart ached, then. Harry Potter was too serious. There was barely any trace of childishness in him, especially these days. He did not act like a child either. Most adolescent wizards and witches were mischievous, lazy, or even complacent. Some were outright arrogant, of course.

There was a reason why Harry nearly drove himself to the ground by training every day. But Amelia knew orphans; she had seen all too many after Grindelwald’s war. Without parents to shield them from the world’s harshness, they all grew up faster than their peers. But even this was too fast, and no matter how wanting Sirius was, he loved his godson dearly. 

Amelia dearly wanted to assure him that all would be fine. That he could relax and leave everything to her. But Harry Potter would never relax. Nor would he appreciate being spoiled or teased like a normal child. 

…Nor could she honestly say she believed her assurance.

Sometimes, Amelia felt like she was speaking to an older Auror who had seen too much bloodshed, a jaded veteran of many battles.

“What is your plan?”

“Scouting first—”

Not once did Harry mention the DMLE or Aurors, and he didn’t have to. They were as likely to attack Juno as they were to attack her mother. Furthermore, Amelia knew the new director. Scimgeour was a stern, stubborn thing that would never allow civilians like her to take part, let alone school children like Harry. 

Thankfully, the young Potter had the forethought to avoid involving his fellow club members.

Fighting was not something schoolchildren should do. Harry was different, of course—he could already defeat Senior Aurors with ease, and even Amelia now had to work hard for a win. The slightest slip against the young wizard would result in her defeat, and she suspected he was hiding a trump card or two.

She shook her head and focused on Harry’s explanation.

The plan itself was not complicated, and it was for the better. Complicated plans were prone to failure.

An hour later, Amelia had donned her old battle robes, and the two quietly made their way out of Hogwarts. The curfew was in a handful of minutes, and the castle had already gone quiet, with most of the students already in bed or their common rooms. Only a handful of prefects patrolled around the castle, as did her apprentice, Merula. 

Harry had proposed to sneak away with Disillusionment Charms, but Amelia declined. A deputy headmistress did not need to sneak around her own school. Giving leave to students for valid reasons was entirely within her rights, too. 

Their journey out of the castle went smoothly until they met a sleepy Professor Lupin on the first floor.

“Professor Bones?” he murmured, rubbing his eyes. “And… Harry?”

The History of Magic teacher looked worse than last week. The bags under his eyes had grown a deeper shade of black, and his face had grown haggard. It looked like the last full moon had taken a great toll on the man.

“We’re going out on personal business,” Amelia was the one to speak. As they had agreed earlier, Harry kept his expression nonchalant and remained silent. 

Lupin’s gaze fell on the battle robes, and he frowned. 

“Quite a dangerous business, by the looks of it,” he noted lightly. “Have you perhaps found Miss Black’s location?”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think so?”

“Mr Potter’s friends were combing the library and the Forbidden Section for scrying and divination charms the last few days,” was the wry reply. “I did give Miss Patil and Miss Abbott passes to read there for the week. Of course, I know Miss Black and young Harry have always been joined at the hip, and the only thing that can get him to move with such urgency is probably Juno.”

Harry merely stared at the werewolf with his green eyes, neither denying nor confirming. The werewolf sighed, dipping his head, unwilling to meet the young wizard’s gaze for some reason. Was it because of shame?

Amelia had heard Lupin was a close friend of James Potter, but now, it seemed he had become a stranger to his son.

“We have yet to find Juno’s location, sir,” Harry spoke coolly, breaking the silence. “Just a clue to follow. There’s a high chance we’re just chasing shadows, but Professor Bones had agreed to indulge my whims just this once.”

“I see,” Lupin said at last, furrowing his brow. “Truth be told, I know a thing or two about tracking. I can come to help you along, if you wish.”

He did not mention the DMLE, she noticed. But then again, it would be a surprise if a werewolf like him trusted the Ministry.

“There’s no need,” Amelia declined. “We’ll be back by tomorrow.”

“Sirius did tell me to keep an eye on Young Harry,” the werewolf explained, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Harry snorted. “We have not spoken once since the school year started, Professor Lupin. Could it be that you only just remembered?”

Lupin bowed his head, looking guilty. Eventually, he sighed. “I never expected you to have already passed History’s O.W.L.s, Harry. And as I promised, I kept an eye out—you were doing just fine. But I must now advise you against dangerous rendezvous deep in the night. Send the clue or the trace to the DMLE or some trusted Hit Wizard for hire, and don’t needlessly take any risks.”

Amelia was torn between applauding the man for the masterful evasion and strangling him for it. But Harry’s jaw only tightened.

“Thank you for your concern, but that will not be necessary,” he said flatly, brushing past the older man without looking back.

“Don’t worry, Professor Lupin,” Amelia said. “There won’t be any risks tonight. Even if there are any, he will be safe with me.”

Remus Lupin’s shoulder sagged as she followed after Harry.

The Brechfa Forest was in full bloom, covered in damp greenery from yesterday’s rain. Though the canopy above and the clouds made the night as dark as ink, Amelia could scarcely see anything more than a few yards from her. The hooting of owls and tinkling of water from a nearby stream echoed in the darkness. The trees swayed under the wind, a cool gale with a hint of salt blowing over from the sea. 

Then, she tapped her monocle with her wand, and the forest lit up through the lens, giving her significant vision in the dark.

“Are you sure this pet snake of yours will be able to find them?” Amelia whispered as they layered silencing and scent-removing charms over their robes and boots.

“Nyx’s senses are very acute,” Harry said. “And she can hide in the shadows. Quite literally. If wizards are hiding in the woodland, she’ll find them.”

Truth be told, Amelia was surprised to find out the Boy-Who-Lived was a Parselmouth. Or that he had a registered pet snake of unknown hybrid origin as a familiar, something dangerously skirting on the wrong side of the school rules. To this day, she had yet to catch a glimpse of the infamous Nyx.

However, the shadow-hiding easily explained why Amelia had not seen the snake even once in over a year in Hogwarts. The ability itself would make it at least a class four magical beast, perhaps even class five, but the older witch decided not to think of the implications.

She frowned as the scent-removing charm slid off Harry’s green-scaled robe.

“Do you have a thin cloak to wrap yourself with?” Amelia prodded.

“Why?”

“Your robe is too magic resistant,” she patiently explained. “Even when not transformed, werewolves are twice as sensitive as humans to scents and sounds.”  

Harry just shrugged and fished out a dark cloak from his pocket and pulled it over his battle robe, murmuring spells to enchant it. Amelia could only shake her head. The boy had come more prepared for this one search than veteran Aurors went into fighting Dark wizards.

“Dark wizards and werewolves often choose forests and woodlands as their lairs or favourite gathering spots,” she explained quietly as they waited for the snake to return. “It’s the perfect location away from the scrutiny of Muggle settlements and the magical detection nets the Ministry employs to protect the Statute. With a few anti-scrying and simple Muggle-repelling magic, it’s easy to remain hidden for months.”

Harry looked abashed for some reason.

The two of them slowly made their way through the forest trails, looking for traces of magic and clearings for camps, but found nothing over the next hour. Neither was in the mood to chatter. 

After midnight, Harry abruptly halted, and Amelia stiffened as a big triangular head of significant size popped out of a nearby shadow and hissed. The sound itself was low and sibilant in a way that made all of her danger senses cultivated as an Auror tingle. Size aside, Amelia Bones was certain of one thing—the snake was class five for certain, a definite wizard killer and one of the more powerful ones.

“Nyx has found Juno,” Harry murmured, looking rather troubled. “But, well…”

“Out with it,” Amelia urged. 

“Juno is in the middle of a big camp, a mile from here. At least a hundred werewolves and two dozen other wizards.” The words came out emotionless, a telltale sign of Harry employing Occlumency to clamp down on his agitation.

Amelia’s breath hitched. 

“We already planned for a similar scenario,” she said lightly. “We have two choices now. Leave to get reinforcements or—”

“Sneak in to get Juno out right now,” the boy finished through gritted teeth. “Even if we leave now to call for help, there’s no guarantee they won’t relocate by the morning. Besides, no amount of help will be of use against this number of werewolves. Not unless we go to the DMLE or find Dumbledore, and even then, the risk remains.”

Harry was right. Even if they had overwhelming force to smash the werewolves, Juno’s safety would still be in question. The best bet had always been subterfuge. 

“It’s dangerous,” Amelia cautioned, turning to look at her student. Blue eyes met green, and he did not blink. He did not falter. “I should go. I’m Juno’s teacher—”

“I have undergone a ritual that dampens my presence,” Harry interrupted forcefully. “Nyx also provides me a layer of… let’s say, additional protection. Besides, Nyx can guide me to the tent where Juno is held, while you have to guess in the dark. For me, it’s just a simple task. I go in under the cloak, slip past the sentries, reach the tent, tag Juno and leave with my Portkey.”

Amelia wanted to object, but the words died in her mind as the serpentine head melded back into the shadows. Harry’s words were making too much sense. 

She watched with mixed feelings as he fished potions out of his mokeskin pouch and chugged them one after the other. The Wit-Sharpening Potion to keep his mind clear and accelerate his pace of thought was first. Then was the fiery orange Invigoration Draught coupled with a turquoise Strengthening Solution, a classical combination of stamina and strength.

“A pity I couldn’t procure Felix Felicis,” Harry murmured regretfully. 

She could see the potion effects settle in as his eyes now flared a bright green.

“Three potions are the limit unless you want to suffer heavy consequences later,” Amelia reminded. “You will probably feel weak for three days to a week, since you took concentrated doses. Besides, liquid luck is dangerous in combat and doesn’t mix well with other potions. I would call it deadly, even. Combat depletes the ‘luck’ faster, and if you follow the hunches it gives you and they run out mid-combat, you might just slip up and die. Merely the sense of heightened euphoria and confidence alone has seen to the deaths of many a fool. No matter how much Felix Felicis I drink, I will never be able to defeat Albus Dumbledore, for example.”

“I don’t plan to fight, though,” Harry reminded wryly as he put on enchanted goggles that would grant him limited night vision. That did not make him look any less ready to dive into a fight. “All of this is merely a precaution.”

Amelia ruffled his hair.

“Be careful,” she advised. “If things go south, just flee.”

Harry merely nodded, pulling on an invisibility cloak after he refreshed the scent and sound-dampening charms on his cloak and boots.

Harry Potter

The werewolf camp had only a handful of sentries, spread across the edges. But the ones Harry had passed were dangerously alert, and his heart was already thick in his mouth. He slowly made his way through the tents, afraid to breathe too lowly as he followed Nyx’s instructions.

‘It’s the tent right up the hill.’ 

The tents and campfires were strewn haphazardly across a large clearing, and even a few trees had been felled. His hands felt clammy, and the Wit-Sharpening Potion gave him perfect clarity over his emotions—even more so than Occlumency—allowing Harry to sense the depths of his nervousness down to his bones. 

But the task was a simple one. Sneak in, reach Juno, and flee by the Portkey in his pocket under the cover of the darkness. Most of the werewolves and the Death Eaters were asleep, and even if they awoke, he was invisible and had room to manoeuvre. Yet Harry was only more alert, precisely because everything was simple on paper and seemed to be going well.

Perhaps it was the three potions he had drunk.

He could feel the magic flowing through him thicken and coalesce, boiling beneath his skin as it was crying for release. He could feel a light prickling sensation in his muscles, surprisingly warm and pleasant. It was not the power gained from the Strengthening Solution—Harry had tested that potion before. 

This was something new, perhaps due to halting his training since he had received the news of Juno’s location. When was the last time Harry stopped squeezing his magic for a day, let alone two? All Hallows’ Eve in the second year. But even then, his body had been recovering from the extreme magical exhaustion after his battle with the Basilisk, unable to truly let it accumulate. 

To his surprise, Harry realised that ever since he had come to this world, he had pushed himself to the limit every possible day. Even in Corsica, his magic was squeezed out at least twice daily, always leaving just enough to avoid Magical Exhaustion. But a few hours of rest were never enough to restore his magic fully, just up to seven or eight parts out of ten.

That much was more than enough on a day-to-day basis. The last stages of full recovery required a whole day’s rest, something that Harry had deemed inefficient. But perhaps he had been mistaken. The current coalescing of magic made him feel like he was floating on clouds, and if anything, Harry felt more powerful than ever before.

Just as he crested the hill, a loud whistle echoed through the air, as lights and lanterns blazed alive, lighting up the clearing as if it were day.

“INTRUDER!” someone roared.

Figures streamed out of the tent, and the sentries came in with wands drawn.

Harry’s heart sank, but he only moved faster towards Juno’s tent, holding Rita’s invisibility cloak tight.

“Where is he?” a man with grey hair and sores on his mouth barked out. Fenrir Greyback.

“Probably invisible,” a shrill voice spoke, sending shivers down Harry’s spine. 

Bellatrix Lestrange emerged, cackling with her wand glowing.

They were too quick. They were also prepared, more than three dozen werewolves, wide awake as if they had waited for him the whole night, and more joined them by the second. Had Amelia betrayed him?

No, it couldn’t be—

An explosion of glitter filled the clearing.

Harry knew the ruse was up, and was already stabbing his wand at the largest gathering of enemies as the wave of glitter stuck over his invisibility cloak.

“IGNUS SECTUM!” 

For the first time in a week, his anger and frustration found an outlet as a deep crimson crescent erupted from his wand. Two shields and a slab of marble were raised, but the spell tore through them like paper, cleaving through the first werewolf, then another one behind him, and a third. 

By the time it nearly split a giant boulder in half, more than five enemies were reduced to smoking remains on the ground, and a few more had lost a limb or two.

But the element of surprise was lost. Harry was surrounded by grim-faced men who looked at him with wariness. They were not half-assed goons and fools who had never fought with a wand before, like the ones Harry fought in Diagon last Christmas. 

All of them were quick to focus and were already counterattacking. Harry had already decided to rush out, but he cursed under his breath as his feet sank into the previously solid ground all the way to the knees. 

The thirty yards between him and Juno’s tent were turned into a quagmire.

“CRUCIO!”

“STUPEFY!”

“INCARCEROUS!”

“SILENCIO!”

Dozens of spells rushed at him from every direction. With the strength gained from the potions, Harry wrenched his feet from the quagmire and hastily raised a dirt barrier around him.

It exploded under the barrage of magic, but it was enough to block most of them, even the Cruciatus. The bits of soil bounced off his basilisk robes.  

Harry was already attacking, his wand turning into a blur. ‘Confringo, Bombarda, Eviscera!’

Powerful curses rushed at the enemy, some were easily blocked with two or three layers of shields, but the Entrail-Expelling Curse shattered the shields and struck a target in the chest. The man’s belly tore open, and his guts erupted as he slumped in agony.

More curses and spells than he had ever seen rushed his way in a fluorescent shower. Most splashed harmlessly against the poisonous basilisk scales, but their impact was beginning to add up. 

Harry decided to ignore his defence and focus only on attacking. No matter how fast he was to counter, he could not compete with what looked to be over fifty wizards. With the basilisk scale robe and Nyx protecting his body, even if he had ten times the magic, he would tire before his enemies could. 

‘I can’t win,’ Harry quickly realised. He swept away conjured ropes with a wave of fire and channelled his frustration into a blasting curse that blew one of the enemies apart. 

He roared in defiance and hurled another decidedly lethal combination from his wand. Most were blocked, and only two enemies were struck down. It was not enough. Many Death Eaters had joined the crowd, conjuring balls and arrows that shot at him. 

“Rescue,” he murmured, but the pull of the Portkey never came.

“We’ve disabled Portkeys here for tonight, Potty,” Bellatrix crooned in a tone that made his hair stand on end. “It took quite a bit of effort to get three anchors to stabilise space, but it’s paying off.” 

The fight turned into a terrible struggle. Normal curses and even arrows didn’t do anything to Harry, but his body was slowly being bruised by the conjured balls and pellets launched at him. For every spell he cast, over a dozen landed on him.

But even his silent Ignis Sanctum was barely enough to slice through shields and kill. 

The land underneath his feet turned swampy again, and then quickly froze over. Harry hadn’t felt this in a long time. He’d grown too used to… being stronger than those he fought. Or at the very least, having something to show for his exhaustion.

But this… it was never-ending. Each spell he cast had been in full force, hoping to overcome the enemy shields. In another minute, he doubted he’d have anything left—and there were more than enough enemies to deal with him once that happened. A few of his bones had to be fractured, the entire left side of his body felt like a mess, and even raising his wand required greater degrees of effort every time his arms fell.

The exhaustion allowed one realisation to burn hot and angry: Harry had been played.

The betrayal—from whoever it was—stung more than any spell thrown at him, and his anger and magic coalesced into his chest like a giant ball of fire. But Harry could find no release. No matter how much of his fury went into his curses, it felt like throwing a rock into the sea. Meaningless. The werewolves and the Death Eaters started working in sync, conjuring layers of frost and stone to block each spell.

Harry’s sluggish movements gave them more than sufficient time. 

“What a monster,” someone exclaimed, his voice a mixture of admiration and irritation. “Even Unforgivables bounce off.” 

“FULMENS”! Bellatrix shrieked. A thick, white-hot lightning bolt seared through his chest, setting his bones aflame.

His whole body jerked violently as arcs of lightning raced through his flesh, and even his mind grew numb.

He had lost. That kind of impact, from a spell so powerful it circled back from pain to utter numbness, made him keenly aware of it. Or perhaps that was the result of the punishment he had taken so far, the countless spells that had rained down on him from all directions.

Harry stumbled, then swayed on his feet.

Badump.

The smell of ozone choked the air, and thus, his lungs. His robe was now torn in places, and much of its remaining scales cracked and scattered about him.

“Lightning works,” someone else shouted, but the sound came out muffled to him. “Drown him in it.” 

Badump.

Blinding light rushed at him from every side, and Harry screamed. After so much, Nyx and the basilisk scale robe could no longer protect him. He could even feel her writhing in pain right alongside him.

Badump.

They might as well have cast the Cruciatus, for as much as it felt like his nerves were being bared and held over a roasting pit. Harry could feel the hammering in his heart louder than ever.

Badump.

But even the beat of his heart had grown distant. Or was he dying again? 

Badump.

The lightning had crackled to a stop. Harry wasn’t sure whether he was standing anymore. He was utterly weightless now. The spells had halted, no voice pierced the clearing’s silence, and even Nyx had grown deathly quiet.

And yet after all that suffering, that burning rage had only grown in size, swirling and roaring with fury.

Badump.

Harry only remained standing because he wasn’t even sure he could fall. Perhaps it was his refusal to accept his failure, or the lightning had damaged him so much that he couldn’t control himself.

But more likely, it was the rage. None of this was fair. 

It wasn’t fair!

He knew the world wasn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean he had to accept it. Why did it always happen to him?

Why?

Why wasn’t he strong enough even after training for so long?!

His knees tremored hard enough to buckle beneath him at any moment, but Harry somehow remained standing. The world was turning dim.

Badump. 

With the final vestiges of his strength, Harry barely managed to glance at the hill, catching a glimpse of a familiar set of blue eyes and a face twisted halfway between horror and fury. 

“…Juno,” Harry whispered weakly. Pain laced through his ribs, sending him into a pained coughing fit. 

Badump. 

At last, darkness took him, but if he was dying… why was his heartbeat only growing stronger?

Badump!

Juno

She stood there, looking in a daze at her friend’s broken and half-naked form. At the blanket of steam wafting from it, his skin was angry red, akin to a roast straight out of the oven. Evidently unconscious, he still refused to fall. Perhaps it was because his legs were knee deep in a frozen quagmire that saved him from the indignity of falling in front of the Death Eaters.

But there was no doubt in her mind that Harry Potter was defeated and broken. In that moment, all Juno’s plans of biding her time went straight to the grave with him, and what was left was a simple, consuming hatred at the sight of his corpse.

“He killed over fifteen of you,” a familiar voice dripping with derision broke the silence. A voice that belonged to a Hogwarts classroom. “I even warned you.”

“Professor Lupin,” she said through gritted teeth.

Yet the lanky professor paid her no heed and stepped before Greyback.

“The boy was weirdly resistant to direct magic,” Fenrir said grimly, the usual arrogance gone from his mangy face. There was a trace of fear as he glanced at Harry’s still form. “He was powerful and vicious, too.”

Even now, none of the Death Eaters or the werewolves dared to approach Harry’s still form.

“Whatever,” Lupin said. “I’m taking my son away.”

“YOU TRAITOR!” Juno roared, no longer caring to put up an act before her mother. Bellatrix frowned at her, the manic gleam returning to her eyes, but she did not care about consequences anymore.

The professor turned to face her, but he didn’t look triumphant or gloating as she had imagined. Remus Lupin looked old, tired, as if he had aged half a decade since she had last seen him. 

“I warned Harry to mind his own business,” was the sad response. “To not get involved here with this mess. But he had to come here for you. I could never have snuck him away under Amelia’s nose—he was wary even of me.”

“Why?” she sobbed out, tears streaming down her face. “Why betray us?”

It was Greyback who responded with a growl, “Lupin never betrayed you lot. He had always been a werewolf. Once upon a time, the poor sod deluded himself that wizards would accept him if he grovelled enough, played along with their games, and followed their increasingly petty rules. And for what? What did he earn for it?”

Greyback spat on the ground. “Nothing but contempt, ostracising, and more suffering, that’s what.” His smile turned feral. “My daughter gave him a family. My daughter gave him hope, understanding and a reason to live. I bet Lupin never told anyone he bit three young boys a few years back during the full moon in a forest in Northern Europe. Not one survived their transformation, of course, but the fool would probably have killed himself in guilt over it without us.”

Lupin only smiled sorrowfully as he walked away, picking a young, cheerful boy whom she had spied near Fenrir’s tent before. Realisation finally struck Juno. Liam. Greyback’s grandson.

Remus Lupin’s son.

“Amelia Bones might be lurking nearby, so beware,” the treacherous bastard warned with a sigh.

Then, he grabbed his son and left the clearing without looking back. A crack echoed through the darkness, the telltale sign of Disapparation. 

“You need to keep your dog leashed better,” Bellatrix clicked her tongue. Then, her dark eyes rose to meet Juno. “You’ve been lying to Mummy dearest, haven’t you, Juno?”

Juno’s veins turned to ice. But her eyes flicked to her friend, and she felt her heart break. Harry Potter stood unmoving, looking like a battered and bruised mess in the swampy, half-frozen mush covered with craters and conjured spears and shrapnel. 

Suddenly, nothing else in the world mattered anymore.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes hot and her throat thick. “I loathe you, you crazy bitch, from the very bottom of my heart! I would kill you a dozen times over for what you did here today!”

Bellatrix’s sad face twisted into a furious snarl. “You dare?” Then, a twisted smile spread across her lips as she cackled. “Ah, no. I’ll just have to teach you some manners before our Lord arrives.”

Juno braced herself as her mother raised her wand before her gaze suddenly snapped to Harry’s still-steaming body. “…Wait, no—!”

“FULMENS!”

An arc of the whitest lightning struck Harry. That, it seemed, was the spell that did it. He toppled over as the lightning coursed through his dead body, lighting it up like a lantern. Bellatrix was a demon to Juno then, her eyes alive with ecstasy and euphoria, refusing to release the spell.

Harry’s thrashing body started to visibly scorch under the onslaught.

Someone was screaming, Juno realised. It was a gut-wrenching wail that carried through the battered clearing. After a long moment, she realised it was coming from her own throat, but Juno didn’t care to stop.

Seeing Harry like this… only now did she realise what despair was. Kneeling in the dirt, unable to do a thing as her mother cooked the corpse of the boy she loved. 

Of all people, Fenrir Greyback was the one to put a stop to Bellatrix’s sadism. 

“Stop it, you mad bitch,” he snarled. “We were supposed to take Potter alive.”

Her mother snorted disdainfully but lowered her wand.

“He was quite tough earlier, this much shouldn’t—”

Juno, however, had paid them no attention. Her eyes were set on Harry. His body was still convulsing from the earlier shock, and his flesh was thoroughly blackened, lying there, sizzling and steaming on the swampy ground.

Badump!

Then, his hair caught fire—a bright emerald flame that rushed to envelop his body.

The whole clearing fell silent as Harry Potter combusted into green flames. His body was swallowed by the crackling, hissing fire.

“Harry,” Juno whispered. Her vision of the flames swam until their deathly green glow was all she could see. It was over, then. With only ashes remaining, Harry was dead.

“I will kill you all,” she swore, openly glaring at her mother, at the Death Eaters and the werewolves. “I will watch you writhe in agony as you lose everything you held dear and grind your bones into dust—”

A sharp crack cut her words off an instant before a weave of searing magic passed through the clearing.

Juno could feel it coming, too—the same sinking sense of inevitability of impending death. It was like a boulder in her gut. Like the sensation of hurtling through the air. Her stomach twisted and untwisted itself into knots.

Then, the flames exploded, latching onto all who were gathered around it. Roasted flesh and howls of pain and agony immediately choked the air. 

Juno numbly watched as green fire washed over the nearby werewolves and melted skin from bones within seconds. By the time most had collapsed, even their bones crumpled into ashes from the impact.

But for her… nothing in the world mattered anymore. Even her vengeance was stolen from Juno, right before her eyes. She watched, beyond numb, as a bird the size of a swan rose from the flames, with a sinister plume of inky black and poisonous green.

Each beat of its wing fanned the flames, spreading them further and hotter. 

By all definitions, it was a phoenix, but this creature was nothing like Fawkes. What kind of phoenix brought despair to the world instead of tranquillity?

“Glacius!”

“Aguamenti!”

“Protego!”

Water and ice did nothing to halt the fire’s advance and evaporated on impact. Even the raised shield melted after mere moments. Then the phoenix itself dove, its talons mercilessly shredding through the necks of the nearest Death Eaters, only for them to catch alight on the poisonous flames dripping from its wings.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” her mother shrieked, but the phoenix easily swerved out of the way of the green curse. The nearby wizards peppered it with spells, but the bird was swifter than their spells.. Each powerful beat of its wings carried the bird out of harm’s way… and rained fire down upon them. 

Bellatrix Lestrange turned to twist away from the flames, but the Anti-Apparition Jinx they had already raised blocked her. Juno couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter, joyless sound that scraped at her throat. Her world was shattered, but the scene of fiery destruction before her was… enchanting.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the inferno; the flames beheld a beauty, mesmerising in a way words failed to describe. Juno wouldn’t miss the sight of her mother burning to cinders even if it meant dying in those flames herself.

Her only regret was that she couldn’t kill her mother with her own hands.

Soon enough, the nearby Death Eaters and werewolves were either killed by the beak and talons of the phoenix, or its spreading flames and their struggles to fight turned to a struggle to flee instead.

“We should leave,” a faint voice echoed behind her. “Before that vicious phoenix turns his attention here.”

Juno spun, only to see nothing behind her. No, it wasn’t ‘nothing’ but a silhouette melding with the surroundings. The voice… the voice belonged to Amelia Bones.

“Can we… can we grab Harry’s body?” Juno asked, her voice brittle.

“I’m not sure there’s a body left,” the older witch said softly.

“Then help me take my father. I’ll need it to prove my innocence.” Juno pushed down the tangle of emotions and forced herself to be calm. “He’s wounded in a tent nearby.”

“Quickly, lead the way, then,” Amelia urged.

For good or bad, the sound of fighting had halted, and only the cracking of those green flames remained. The air was charged with that beautiful devastation, and not even the acrid black smoke and the fetid scent of charred meat could change that. 

The fire seemed to avoid the pair of them like the plague, even though it spread in every other direction. Juno found the dilapidated tent in which her father was recovering. The insides were miserable, reflecting on the regard Bellatrix had held for her rightful husband. 

“Rodolphus Lestrange has certainly seen better days,” the deputy headmistress said with a snort as she beheld the figure on the bed with pity. Then, something cracked in the distance, and the sound echoed like glass breaking. “I think… I think the Portkey-Blocking anchor has shattered. We can leave right away. We definitely should.”

Juno looked out of the tent towards the swirling sea of fire where Harry had long disappeared.

But a firm hand grabbed her wrist, and she was too tired to even think of resisting.

“There’s no time for hesitation.” Amelia’s other hand had clamped Rodolphus by the neck. 

“Ossuarium!”

But just as she finished the word, a green figure swooped in, landing on Juno’s shoulder. She didn’t have enough time to process the sheer panic of that horrifying bird perching on her before the world twisted. 

She tumbled onto a grassy lawn, feeling all strength leave her bones. 

Juno then froze as the phoenix hopped off her shoulder and trilled with surprising affection. Even Amelia drew her wand, looking warily at the intruder, despite the knowledge that the bird could easily kill them both before she so much as cast a single spell.

The bird’s eyes glowed green with power. Too green. The same glowing shade of those terrifying flames. But there was no malice in them, no hatred.

The phoenix looked up at her for a moment longer before it swayed and toppled back. Its form shook and stretched, and in its place was a naked but very much alive Harry Potter.

Author’s Endnote: Boom. 

I have not forgotten the Animagus form. The payoff took… a long time to write, and there are obvious downsides that will be further explored down the line.