61.Deal with the Devil

6th of May 1994, Sunday (1 day later)

Draco Malfoy

Fiendfyre in Brechfa Forest—Werewolves vs Deatheaters

By special reporter Octavia Brightmoor

In what looks like a quarrel between partners in crime turned bloody, Death Eaters and werewolves led by Fenrir Greyback clashed in the Brechfa Forest two nights ago. 

According to DMLE sources, the extent of the fighting cannot be confirmed after Fiendfyre set a good part of the woodland ablaze, leaving only ashes behind. However, half-charred corpses were found across the country—a telltale sign of trying to escape Fiendfyre via Apparation, according to our dark magic expert… (More on the Cursed Flames on page 7)

Minister Fudge vows the Ministry will get to the bottom of it and “catch any stragglers within days”…

Speculations estimate at least three dozen dead, and…

“You’re studying this article more than your Charms textbook.” Pansy’s whiny voice came across the table. “It’s just a bunch of mongrels and dark wizards fighting. Who cares!”

Draco hid a scowl behind the newspaper, inwardly cursing Parkinson for sitting across from him. As ungainly as she looked, that wasn’t half as irritating as her obsessive desire to voice her mind about every small thing. Still, her pug-nosed face and catty expression soured his breakfast more than it already was. 

“You look pale, Draco,” said Pansy, giving him a concerned glance. “Perhaps I should help you to the hospital wing.”

Frustration bubbled up in his chest as he suppressed the urge to glance at the Ravenclaw table. “I’m fine,” Draco said, tone sharper than he intended.

As usual, Vincent and Gregory were useless and blissfully unaware of the world, stuffing their faces with the sausages. Their manners were worse than a Muggle’s. The more time passed, the more Draco wondered why he ever bothered with such useless minions. But he knew the answer—because his father had told him to.

“I wonder if Juno burned to cinders,” said Theo dryly, studying his edition of the Sunday Prophet.

“Longbottom sure hopes so,” Blaze sniggered, glancing at the Gryffindors. “If he smiles any wider, his face will split in two. Do you reckon Potter has something to do with it, as Brown claims?”

“I believe Brown as far as I could lob a Quaffle.” Theo hesitated for a long moment. “Although our Merlin-in-training vanished from school the night before. What’s your take on this, Draco?” 

Draco shrugged his shoulders. “Harry hardly needs to stay at Hogwarts anymore,” he said. “He hasn’t attended classes in months, self-studying most of the time.”

“It’s not like the Professors have much to teach him,” Pansy said, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “It’d be great if that slag Black disappeared.”

Daphne scoffed. “Even if she were, you’d have no chance, Parkinson. Harry will never spare the likes of you a second glance, even if you were the last witch in the world.”

“As if cows like you would fare any better,” the pug-nosed girl sneered, glancing at Daphne’s chest. “Look at you, trying to act all familiar with Potter.”

“Harry is te—” Daphne’s words turned into a pained hiss as she turned to glare at her twin.

“Manners,” Damien said, voice cool. “We’re here to eat, not quarrel like children.”

The Great Hall grew quiet as the headmaster tapped a spoon against his goblet, the tinkling sound carrying throughout the four tables.

Dumbledore stood as he studied the four tables, face solemn. 

“I have an announcement to make.” His voice turned grave. “It pains me to say it, but Professor Lupin has been found in league with notorious criminal Fenrir Greyback and has fled the school on Friday night. I assure you that no crime has been committed on school grounds. In light of recent events, I have informed the DMLE, and the Ministry and the ICW will place a warrant for his arrest.”

For a long moment, everyone stood stunned.

“Why would a respectable teacher collude with a werewolf and a murderer like Greyback?” an older Gryffindor blurted out.

Dumbledore dipped his head. “Even I myself am not quite certain, but I can tell it’s a matter of close family. The rest is up for the Aurors in DMLE to discern.”

Whispers rose from the four tables, and Draco could see their imaginations running high. He felt a ting of respect for the old headmaster, daring to bring out such a delicate matter so boldly. Others might have kept it covered, merely saying the Lupin had ‘resigned’, and completely avoiding the DMLE, but not him. The backlash for Dumbledore would not be small, considering he himself had hired Lupin, but bringing it out in the open right away would mitigate a part of it.

“Who will teach us History?” someone shouted from the Hufflepuff table. “Please, not Professor Binns again!”

A twinkle returned to Dumbledore’s eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, Mr Larksby. Professor Binns will return to his post, and the current schedule will remain unchanged.”

Groans and complaints rippled through the four tables. Even Draco found himself letting out a long sigh as he stared numbly at the staff table.

“Brilliant,” Theo grumbled under his breath. “Because all we needed was to hear about goblin rebellions again.”

“I thought Professor Lupin was just missing for the weekend again,” Blaise said, rubbing his face with exasperation. “Why did it have to be the best history professor we’ve ever had? Couldn’t someone like Perrywinkle conspire with dark wizards instead?”

“If he did, he wouldn’t be half as boring.”

“Do you think Lupin might be a werewolf himself?”

“Maybe. Or his wife or son, I bet—”

“Professor,” Daphne’s sister called out from the Gryffindor table. “Do you know what has happened with Harry?”

“Mr Potter has sat his exams and elected to conclude the term ahead of schedule, Miss Greengrass,” was the even reply. “Back to eating now. In my long years, I have found that young minds best learn when well-fed and watered.” 

The clatter of spoons and forks resumed, but now joined by hushed whispers. Draco stared at his scrambled eggs but couldn’t find the appetite for a bite. Even the sight of sweet pumpkin juice made him want to hurl.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” Blaise was saying. “Do they take us for fools? Potter goes away, Lupin flees, and some mysterious scuffle takes place in Brechfa forest on the same night?”

“It is suspicious,” Theo said with a nod. “But I wouldn’t worry about our Wonder Boy. He made quick work of two trolls in his first year, and I bet a bunch of mongrels were a joke for him now.”

Pansy bit on her fingernails. “But the Prophet claims the presence of Death Eaters—”

Draco murmured up an excuse and stood up. Ignoring the curious looks from his housemates, he slipped between the tables and walked out of the Great Hall.

He was not alone—a familiar red-haired boy had left the Gryffindor table. Today, even his scruffy robes weren’t such an eyesore.

“Malfoy,” Ronald said with a tight nod the moment they were in the hallway.

“Weasley.”

Without further talk, they both scaled the grand staircase and made for the abandoned wing on the fifth floor. 

Once they arrived at the D.A. room, Weasley broke the silence as he flung himself into one of the chairs in the back.

“Got any word from Harry or Juno?”

“None,” Draco said as he slumped next to him.

The sinking feeling in his gut only grew worse. 

Before long, the door slid open, and others started streaming in. Diggory, Abbott, three sets of twins in the Weasleys, Carrows, and Greengrasses, Goldstein, Diana, and more. The same unease that wriggled in his mind was etched on each face. Diana gave him a brief smile before huddling together with MacDougal and Patil. Within half an hour, everyone was here. Everyone but Juno and Harry.

Nobody spoke.

The red-haired twins were nervously tapping on the desk, looking as restless as ghosts.

“Would you two stop it?” snapped Tonks with a heavy glare. 

Abashed, Fred and George lowered their heads and whispered in hushed tones instead.

Last to enter was Amelia Bones with her flowing robes of yellow and black velvet that did little to hide the figure that featured in every boy’s dreams in Hogwarts.

“I had guessed you lot would gather here,” she said, adjusting her monocle.

“Do you know what happened to Harry, professor?” 

“Mr Potter is with his godfather,” Professor Bones said quickly. “And he’s recuperating from a… magical mishap.”

The Deputy Headmistress did not meet their eyes. 

Draco shared a worried glance with Weasley.

“What happened, Professor?” Tonks asked, voice cracking. “What was that with Fiendfyre, Lupin, werewolves, and—”

“Mr Potter used some very dangerous magic that night,” was the reply. “He’ll live, so don’t fret. Miss Black was rescued from her captors, and that’s all I can say before the trial. If you have any further queries, I advise you to send an owl to your friends.”

‘He’ll live?’ Astoria mouthed, looking ready to faint.

Diggory raised his hand. “Professor—”

“I’m afraid my time here is short,” Bones said, glancing at her pocket watch. “The DMLE representative will arrive any minute now, and I will be the one to meet them.”

Words said, the deputy headmistress slipped out of the room like a gust of wind, leaving the D.A. members with more questions than answers.

“Is it me, or did Professor Bones sound guilty?” Tonks asked no one in particular, her eyes still fixed on the door. 

“She did,” Ralina Selywn said lightly. “Something else must have happened, I say.”

Ron shuffled with unease, glancing about. “What’s going to happen to the D.A. now?”

“I’m going to write to Harry and Juno,” Luna said, pulling Astoria by the arm as she left. 

Goldstein was the next to murmur up some excuse and leave, and Bones, Abbott, and Diggory followed.

“Reading runes on my own it is, then,” said Damien with exasperation and stood up. “Ron, are you coming?”

Weasley gave a mute nod and joined him. Before Draco knew it, the room grew empty, leaving only him and Diana behind. Padma was the last to leave, closing the door behind them with a knowing smile.

“This is bad,” she said. The Muggle-born girl looked calm, but her hands were fiddling with her sleeves. “Without Harry and Juno, they’ll all break into cliques again. It’s as if the D.A. has disbanded.”

“Once Harry and Juno are back, they’ll all come back,” Draco said, though his words sounded weak even to his own ears. “Don’t worry, Diana.”

She looked so small, so lonely then, that he couldn’t help but sit beside her.

“But nobody is telling us a damned thing.” Frustration leaked into her voice as she anxiously tugged on her hair. “Do you think they’ll come back?”  

He wrapped a hand around her shoulder, and Diana leaned into him.

“Werewolves can’t stop Harry,” he said firmly. “It wasn’t even the full moon, so I just refuse to believe they hurt him badly. He probably pushed his magic too far or something. You heard Professor Bones—Juno’s saved, so he definitely succeeded—”

The door burst open. 

“Draco,” a familiar voice said, and Draco’s heart sank. Stiffly, he turned to see his father at the doorway, his disapproving gaze fixed on Diana. He glared at her as if she were nothing more than the mud beneath his boots.

Draco wanted to stand up for her, but his feet were like leaden weights under his gaze.

“F-Father—”

“Leave us, girl,” Lucius Malfoy said, voice glacial. “I must talk with my son.”

Nodding tightly, Diana rose from her seat and ran out of the room.

His father waved his wand, slamming the door shut behind her. Another flick sent a faint buzzing hum through the room—a muffling charm.

“A Mudblood, Draco?” he asked flatly. “I taught you better than that.”

“She’s just a friend from a study club—” 

Lucius Malfoy snorted. “Do you think I’m blind, boy? You don’t hug Mudbloods in study clubs. I certainly didn’t. No respectable pureblood would. Parkinson’s daughter wrote about your suspicious behaviour months ago. Playing around with a toy for a month or two is one thing—”

“Diana is no toy,” Draco blurted out. 

When his father’s eyes narrowed, he knew he had made a mistake. Yet the expected yelling and chiding never came.

“The Dark Lord has returned,” his father said instead, tone so cold it made Draco shiver. He pulled his sleeve, baring his left forearm, and Draco gasped. A dark blotch of ink twisted atop pale skin as if alive, fashioned into a skull with a twisting serpent coming out of its mouth.

Draco should have felt happiness. The Dark Lord was the man who would lead those purest of blood to victory and power. Yet all he could feel was cold, creeping dread pooling in his stomach, and Draco couldn’t help but think his father looked frightened, unease creeping under his calm mask.

“H-How?” His mouth quivered. “They said the Dark Lord was dead—”

Lucius Malfoy pursed his lips. “He was. But once powerful wizards delve deep enough into the Dark Arts, they can even defeat death, and the Dark Lord has delved deeper than all others.” His voice softened ever so slightly. “Forget the Mudblood, Draco, if not for the sake of propriety, then do it for her sake. Your closeness will make her and her Muggle family a target. The Dark Lord will not strike her down himself, nor will he order his followers to touch her. Perhaps he will grant her to Nott or Mulciber for re-education.”

“No, I refuse—”

A bark of joyless laughter escaped from his father’s chest. “Refuse? You don’t refuse the Dark Lord, son, not unless you wish to die. He will make you break her, order you to torture her until her very mind is shattered and body broken beyond repair, and then, if he’s feeling merciful, he might grant her the release of death.”

‘He couldn’t do that,’ Draco wanted to roar, but he had heard the Dark Lord doing worse to those who had defied him. Pureblood families of storied lineages, hundreds, even thousands of years of history, extinguished in a single night. Powerful wizards and witches were slain, regardless of their preparation or prowess, whether in an ambush or an attack on their home.

Neville Longbottom’s parents, for one, were tortured to a slow and painful death. Would the same happen to Diana’s parents, or worse?

“It’s not fair,” Draco spat. 

His father frowned, letting pity bleed into his expression. “It never is, my son.” 

“Dumbledore won’t let the Dark Lord win. Harry won’t either—”

“Dumbledore is powerful, but what use is that power if he’s too afraid to fight?” Lucius let out a long sigh. “And Potter… perhaps if he were a decade older, it would be safe to back him. He is stronger than many wizards alive today, but no thirteen-year-old boy can match the Dark Lord, no matter how talented or hardworking.”

His father stabbed his cane at his chest. “Eyes will watch your every move, searching for weakness. Others, loyal to the Ministry, will watch with suspicion, thinking you’re consorting with Dark Wizards. From now on, our family is walking a thin rope, and the slightest slip will see us hurling into an abyss. If I see you near that Mudblood again, I will kill her myself.”

With a curt nod, Lucius Malfoy turned to leave. He paused by the doorway without turning back. 

“I came here today to inform you that your mother and I have decided on your betrothed. Negotiations are already underway and should conclude by the end of next week.” His father’s voice grew dangerously low. “And if you think for one moment to sabotage the deal or shame the witch in question, I will disinherit you.”

With a graceful flourish of his cloak, he disappeared into the hallway. His father did everything with grace and dignity—even his threats. Right now, Draco hated him for it. 

His heart could not stop hammering, and his hands felt as cold as ice, no matter how much he rubbed them together. 

Even a warming charm didn’t make him feel better.

What would Harry do in his shoes?

Probably train himself even harder, saying something like, “Once I’m powerful enough, I’ll just kick his arse.”

But Draco Malfoy was not Harry Potter. He had a knack for Charms and Potions and was a passable duellist, but it took far more than that to become powerful.

How was he to face Diana now?

‘Hey, we can’t meet again because my father will kill you, or the Dark Lord will. Oh, and I’m now betrothed to some witch I don’t even know the name of yet.’

Yeah, that would go swimmingly. For a fleeting moment, the thought of leaving passed through Draco’s head. Like his aunt Andromeda… running off with Diana and living a happy life. But where would that leave his parents? His father wasn’t the kind of man to bluff. The minute he discovered that he had eloped, Draco would be disinherited, likely in favour of his baby sister. 

‘Or perhaps they’ll make another son instead,’ Draco thought sourly.

16th of May 1994, Wednesday (10 days later)

Juno

“This will stir the hornet’s nest.” Skeeter glanced at her pensieve as if it would jump out and bite her. “You still killed two people—two people!”

“A clear-cut case of self-defence,” Juno said, twirling Aunt Cassiopeia’s wand between her fingers. “The public is not blind enough to miss it. Who was it that said that the people deserve the truth again? So, can you get it published or not?”

“It will ruin my career.” The Animagus bit her lip and threw her another pitiful, wide-eyed look. 

Juno didn’t budge. “That is your problem, not mine. Can you get it published or not?”

“Damn it.” Skeeter let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re barking mad, you know that?”

“I am Lady Black, so it’s not out of character,” Juno said imperiously. “Besides, I will not let the Ministry try to make me out as some deranged murderer, Skeeter. I want it published on the front page of tomorrow’s morning Prophet.”

“Fine! You’ll have your article on time, but you won’t ask me to write anything for half a year.” Rita adjusted her glasses for the hundredth time. “Assuming I don’t get fired. There’s only so much an alias can hide me from the Ministry…”

“Post it anonymously, then. I’m sure a clever witch like you will find a way. I’m sure you have ample dirt on Cuffe or the other head editors?”

Half an hour later, Juno Disapparated out of Skeeter’s new flat. The witch had moved to a new home and tried to run, but such measly tricks would not work on a Black. Juno had paid the reporter a visit only now, half a day after she had broken the Magic Draining Solution. Without magic, she felt too naked, and there was no guarantee Skeeter wouldn’t try to attack her or call the DMLE to apprehend her. 

Juno could have gone to Professor Bones for assistance. But Amelia Bones had helped her more than enough, far more than any deputy headmistress was required to help a student. Any further, and a heavy debt would fall on her shoulders.

Black Manor’s dark decor felt gloomier than usual, and Juno found herself pacing back and forth across the lady’s office. The desk was chaotic—laden with books haphazardly thrown over each other. Some were opened on a specific page, while others were closed. 

“I have some dirt on Fudge,” Arcturus said from the portrait. “He slept with his colleague in the Department of Magical Catastrophes and sired a bastard on her. Some other minor infractions, too, but they won’t raise a big fuss like adultery will. I know his ilk, though. He must have accepted at least a bribe or three in his time in office. If you dig deep enough in the Ministry, all sorts of skeletons will jump out of the closet.”

Juno shook her head. “Blackmail won’t do a thing. Fudge will try to sweep it under the rug and come after me harder. He desires to prove himself. Each day my mother ran free was another mark on his good name, and I daresay it’s personal now. Worse, I’m young with no roots or backing and plenty of galleons. A rather tempting target. Hell, if I were in his shoes, even I’d go after me.” 

“You’ve already extracted guarantees Rodolphus Lestrange will safely arrive to stand trial. You have allies in the Wizengamot who will not suffer such a slight against a pureblood lady of your standing. If it could happen to you—”

“It could happen to them. Yes. I know all that, but my mother killed too many, came dangerously close to breaking the Statute too many times to count, and no matter what I do, that will stain my name. The unease will not leave my mind.”

Arcturus scoffed. “A Black is not ruled by fear. You should—”

Her grandfather continued to throw suggestions, but the words flowed through one ear and out of the other as only one thought plagued her mind:

‘But am I really a Black?’

She bore the name and the title, and had the magic, but there was more in her blood. Far more, and it had not come from Rodolphus Lestrange. Juno still remembered how her blood sang the second she stepped into the Chamber of Secrets. That alone was proof of Slytherin lineage, and only one man claimed that honour in the past fifty years.

I’m still Voldemort’s daughter. Too many things pointed that way to be a coincidence, and she could no longer deny it. If anyone ever found out, no amount of connections would save her in the murder trial. The Wizengamot would vote to toss her in Azkaban or the Veil, innocent or not. In truth, just the line theft of Lestrange was enough to damn her, even though it had been her grand uncle who had done the stealing.

Nobody could know. Harry would keep her secret, yes, but if anyone else found out… her life would crumble. Far more than it already had, at least.

Harry Potter. Her betrothed. He had not signed the contract as she had expected, nor made any exuberant demands as Arcturus had feared. Doubtlessly done out of selfless concern for her. It gladdened her heart more than words could ever describe.

Some would call him foolishly noble, but it was that very same ‘foolish nobility’ that had saved her twice now, so she didn’t care.

He had even written that he found a possible way to mend his magic, though it would take a year. Juno still scoffed at those words. That had stumped Dumbledore, and Harry had solved it in days? As much as she knew of his prowess, she struggled to believe it. It was a clever attempt to reassure her while keeping a distance. A whole year might see their friendship cool, and that’s precisely the kind of selflessly foolish thing her friend would do.

Juno would have stormed into the Potter home and demanded a clear explanation—after snogging him senseless, that was. But she dared not go there, for it would implicate Harry while she was still wanted by the Ministry. Worse, even if she dared to visit, she could not. The house was protected, and the location slipped from her thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to remember it. And knowing Harry, he would not invite her until he ‘regained’ his magic, for her friend had his own pride, no matter how much he tried to hide it. 

“I still don’t know why you’re wasting your time on these books on dark magic,” Arcturus was saying. “You should focus on your trial and waste time on the Potter problem later. A squib is of no use, no matter how noble or clever.”  

Rage rushed up her spine and very nearly lit her head on fire. “One more ill word about Harry, and I will destroy your portraits. All of them.”

“They are charmed indestructible, girl,” he sneered. “You would have an easier time demolishing the manor instead.” 

“Then I will demolish the manor and burn the rubble with Fiendfyre. Harry will not remain a squib forever. I refuse to accept or to let such a thing happen.”

Arcturus let out an exasperated sigh. 

“I suppose you are still young and easily ruled by your emotions.” His voice was laced with disdain. “When he was powerful and talented, it was wise, but now, he is a cripple. Your blind obsession with Potter might burn brightly in your heart, but chaining yourself to a nobody is wasting your wealth and magic—”  

“One more word,” Juno said icily, jabbed her wand at the portrait, crackling magic pooling at the tip. “You will learn to speak with respect both to Lady Black and her future consort. Now tell me of the notes Aunt Cassiopeia left you.” 

“There are no notes for she didn’t expect to actually die to a half-blood mongrel’s schemes,” he said lightly, turning to leave. “Forget it, I’m leaving for the vault instead of dealing with a blinded brat like you—” Arcturus slammed into the painting frame, rubbing his head painfully. Then, he raised his dark eyes to glare at her. “What did you do?”

Keeping the Frame-Locking Spell up, Juno motioned with her free hand to the pile of books. 

“Learned a trick or two from my ancestors.” She gave him a toothy smile. “While some of them were useless, there are gems in the mud once you dig deeper. One of them was so irritated by his father’s portrait that he invented a torture curse for portraits. Want to test it out?”

“Fine, fine. I give,” said Arcturus, throwing his arms into the air. “There’s a loose plank under the leg of my bed with a box inside keyed to the signet ring. Cass left the useful things all there.” 

‘So much for not leaving notes behind.’ Though she was not surprised that the old thing had lied with a straight face. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

 Arcturus hesitated for a long moment, and desperation crept into his tone. “Don’t do this.”

“Oh, and what am I doing?”

“You mean to find the ritual master. The one who fashioned the rituals for your thirteenth birthday, hoping he could heal your broken boy toy better than a master healer could.” He hesitated for a moment. “It’s unwise. Masters of Forgotten Magic all ask a hefty price for their service, and there’s no guarantee of success. Wait until your good name is cleared. Think it through carefully—” 

Juno walked out of the study room with a scowl. Wrangling with the portrait of Arcturus Black was no less exhausting than dealing with the real thing. But it had to be done; the old coot had a wealth of knowledge, wisdom, information—and sadly—the ego to match and then some.

One day, she would find a way to destroy that cursed portrait. All of them. But not today. 

The Black signet ring had turned to slag along with her mother, but they were far from unique. Juno only needed to venture deep into the secret family vault and take another one. A simple enough task, considering the Black Lords had made dozens of the stuff when it was a new fad three centuries prior, each aiming for a grander design than the last. The one she had lost had been commissioned by Arcturus, but there was nothing unique about it.

Those rings were merely a symbol of the authority the head of House Black held. They were worthless without the recognition of others or magic.  

19th of May 1994, Saturday (3 days later)

Juno fiddled with her new signet ring. It was a gaudy thing made of pure emerald, crowned by a shard of jadeite shaped into the family crest. It was gaudier than most magical jewellery, even amongst the significant collection of House Black. She had only picked it because it was pretty green and reminded her of Harry’s eyes.

Cassiopeia had left notes on Nurmengard, despite what her grand-uncle had claimed. Arcturus Black was no less of a fox—with the notes were three highly illegal international portkeys leading to the Austrian Alps. Each was the highest grade of ministry-enchantment, of the sort that would not raise any alarms.

Juno had not hesitated to use one.

The air in the Austrian Alps was thick, and inside the castle, thicker still, as if a tangible presence loomed. Even the stones and the mortar were overflowing with magic—most of it dark and sinister. 

Taking a deep breath, Juno leapt over the bright ribbon of red magic on the last three steps. Just a brush against the ribbon would see squads of ICW Hit-Wizards rush into the vicinity. It was one of many such traps—some were even Muggle-made. There were a few traps of the deadly variety. Swinging axes that would bisect you in half, false hallways with floors that would fall into a pit full of poisoned spears, shifting flagstones that would see a rain of magical arrows once you step over, and countless more.

It had taken her two days and two nights to sneak into the top floor, where her goal lay. And she wouldn’t have succeeded without Mage Sight.

Ironically, that and Lumos were the only magic she could use here, and doing so strained her mind to the limit. Even now, she could feel reality warping, twisting magic in the air—a phenomenon in the whole prison-castle and its surroundings. Even Mage Sight would have been out of reach if she had not spent over two weeks mastering her inner magic to break the Magic Draining Solution. 

Weary, knackered, and with a knot in her stomach, Juno crept closer to the heavy iron bars at the far end of the hallway. But there was no Gellert Grindelwald there, only piles of books and Muggle magazines strewn across the floor.

“A new visitor,” said a raspy old voice from the shadows—even the words came out rusty and slow, as if the man had half-forgotten how to speak. “It’s always a delight for an old, lonely man like me. And quite the young one. Come closer, Young Lady Black.”

All of her instincts screamed for her to run, but she could not. Not after coming all the way here. The thought of giving up on Harry before even trying grated on her.

Swallowing, Juno stepped forth, and she finally saw him. Deep in the darkness of the cell was an old, wizened man with brittle white hair and a plain grey robe that failed to hide his gaunt frame. He looked utterly harmless. But his eyes told another story, burning with power like blue torches in the dark.

“L-Lord G-Grindelwald?” she asked, voice coming shakier than she intended. How did one talk to a dark lord?

The old man bowed deeply, giving her what might have passed for a charming smile half a century ago. “The very same, young Juno. Though I’ve long lost the right to claim myself lord of anything.”

Powerful. Gellert Grindelwald was as powerful as Dumbledore, if not more, and just as dangerous. 

“How do you know… my name?”

“How could I not, when I designed the rituals for you, dear?” Gellert let out a hoarse chuckle. “House Black has a single heir left, a girl about your age, and the crest on that ring betrays you. For you to come here alone, Cassiopeia must have met an untimely end, following the footsteps of that fence-sitting cousin she called lord.”

Juno hid her hand behind her back. Her face was schooled to betray no emotion, but she could feel the sweat pooling down her back and the drumming of her heart in her ears. 

Somehow, Grindelwald was using no magic she could sense, yet he could see through her effortlessly. It made her feel naked. 

She forced her stiff fingers to grip the skirts of her robe and dipped into a curtsy.

“I…I am Juno Bellatrix Black, here to ask Lord Grindelwald for a favour.”

“I already knew,” he said dryly. “There’s no reason for someone to jump through all those hoops Albus placed to meet a forgotten by the world old man. Since you have come here, Cassiopeia must have told you about the price.”

Ice sank in her veins. Cassiopeia had not written a single thing in her notes on price or repayment.

“What is the price?” she asked with forced calm. 

Grindelwald spread out his arms, a sardonic smile playing about his lips. “I must hear your request first, I’m afraid. Only poor merchants name a price without knowing what they will sell.”

“I have a friend who is in a bit of a pickle,” Juno said, voice cracking. “He… sort of managed to squib himself.”

Grindelwald’s white eyebrows shot up. “Peculiar,” he said, voice growing cool as he hobbled over to the thick iron bars. “I did not think this was possible. You must show me.”

Juno took a step back. “Show you how?”

“How deliciously cautious.” Gellert shook his head with amusement. “I know you’re a natural Legilimens—something my rituals must have strengthened, so brush your mind against mine.”

“…You’re asking me to trust the most notorious Dark Lord in the world with my very mind?” Juno asked incredulously. 

“You can leave if you wish,” he said lightly. “But this is a part of the price. I never had the talent for Legilimency, for that was Albus’s forte, so there is not much danger to you. I promise I will not push, which means you get to pick which memories to display. But if you hold back, don’t complain if the ritual makes things worse for your friend instead of better.”

Her eyes flickered to the Dark Lord and back to the stairway. Twice Juno raised her wand halfway and then lowered it. 

For Harry. For Harry, she was willing to pay any price. But only if it helped him.

“Swear that you will help,” she said at last. “I know you have no magic, but your word will suffice.”

“I vow on my soul and mind that I will help Juno Bellatrix Lestrange with one request, should she let me peer into her mind.”

The vow did not reassure her in the slightest. She could see two loopholes right away, though she suspected the more she tried to bargain with the dark lord, the worse off she would be. ‘I am doing this for Harry,’ she chanted in her mind. 

“But… I can’t cast,” Juno whispered. “Magic here is messed up.”

“Try now,” Gellert said, giving her an encouraging smile. 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the air settled, and the looming presence grew fainter.

Juno Bellatrix Black swallowed as she studied his unfaltering smile. The Dark Lord was not as powerless as he appeared.

Lifting her wand, she took another step back and whispered, “Legilimens.”

Her probe met a vast wall of clouds. Juno’s heart settled once she realised Grindelwald was making no move to rampage through her mind.

“Think of the memory in question,” his raspy voice guided her.

Gritting her teeth, Juno first pushed forward the memory of the day she had escaped. The day Harry had almost died saving her. It was still fresh in her mind.

“There is more to this.” A hint of impatience slithered into Grindelwald’s tone. “Show me the beginning.”

After what felt like forever, a panting Juno sat on the floor, uncaring of decorum. The air once again twisted, messing with magic. Darkness had fallen outside, and all she could see was Gellert’s dark silhouette shuffling behind the iron bars.

Despite the dull throb in her head, her mind was still her own—and the Dark Lord had not peeked beyond what she had shown. Or at least she had not sensed any intrusion. The thought chilled her.

“I can indeed help your dear friend,” his raspy voice carried in the dark. “But the price might be higher than you’re willing to give.”

“Anything,” she said at once, voice certain.

Grindelwald chortled. “No hesitation for a proud little thing like you?”

Juno met the Dark Lord’s eyes with determination she would not have felt if it weren’t for Harry.

“Your Harry’s magic can be easily restored,” he rasped. “But it will cost you your own. He will regain everything, and you will become a squib in his stead.”

“I…” Juno closed her eyes, balling her hands into fists. Magic was the very thing that defined her, and without it, she was nobody. Without magic, she would be worse than Muggles—helpless and useless in the Muggle and magical world. “I’ll give up my magic, then.”

A slow, clapping sound echoed in the darkness, bouncing off the stone hallways like a ghost.

“Ah, young love.” Gellert let out a long sigh. “Truly, Albus was right. Someone so talented, so driven, and selfish would have never surrendered their magic. They would have fought tooth and nail against the smallest chance of losing it. Yet here you are, ready to give it all up, and you mean every word of it. For love.”

“Will you help Harry or not?” Juno pressed, losing her patience. 

“Patience. I said I would, so have no fear—I am a man of my word. It’s not every day Gellert Grindelwald learns something so new and so delightful.” He cocked his head, as if hesitating. “I can perhaps help Mr Potter in other ways that allow you to keep your magic, but I need a small favour in return. It will be of no burden to you, I assure you. In fact, you might stand to benefit even more than your friend will.”

The wider Grindelwald’s smile grew, and the kinder his words turned, the more the hairs along the back of her neck stood on end.

Author’s Endnote: Whew, a pain in the ass chapter, but I loved every moment of it. I originally planned two more PoVs for the chapter, but… that wouldn’t do them any justice and would kinda dilute the intended ending.