Azkaban
Azkaban. Prison for witches and wizards. Supposedly the most secure and impossible to escape place ever created. Not only meant to confine the most dangerous criminals in the magical world, but to ensure they live a life of suffering and torment at the hands of vile, dreadful creatures that feed on happiness and the will to keep living.
It is said that, in the past, a dark wizard, one of the most powerful of his time, built the place as his personal tower. After his death, it passed into the hands of the magical government. Since its creation, not a single person had ever escaped that prison or the sea that surrounds it; treacherous, dangerous, freezing waters forever stirred by the wind. Add the vile creatures guarding every corner, and escape becomes impossible.
Or at least, it should be.
Until last year, when one single man managed to escape. And he was never seen again.
Peter Pettigrew.
Now believed to be living freely; the first man to ever escape the most dangerous prison in the world.
Two guards stood at the entrance, as usual, carrying out their shift. Normally a dull post, unless new prisoners were being brought in. The cold sea wind crashed against the rocks and made the metal structures of the dock creak and groan.
Suddenly, they saw something approaching through the sky.
With faint, almost mocking smiles, they immediately noticed how the figure was surrounded by the dark shadows that constantly circle the prison.
The Dementors.
Tasked with attacking anyone who dares approach the fortress.
But before they could stop the intruder, a white glow burst from the figure. A white serpent appeared at once, gliding through the air with effortless grace, striking at every Dementor that attempted to draw near its caster. It drove them back completely, forcing them into an almost instinctive retreat.
The guards drew their wands immediately at the sight.
They watched as the figure, cloaked in black smoke, descended and landed directly in front of them.
At once, they realized it was a beautiful woman.
Piercing eyes. Upright and composed bearing. Very pale blonde hair, almost white, straight and carefully styled. A sharp face that revealed no clear emotion.
"Stop. You are in a legally protected area…"
The woman did not wait for the auror to finish speaking. She swiftly pulled something from her pocket and threw it toward them.
The guards braced themselves, thinking it was an attack. But they quickly realized it was not.
It was a letter.
White.
It unfolded in front of them at once, revealing firm black handwriting. At the bottom, a seal they knew very well.
Amelia Bones.
One of the guards took the letter and read it carefully after seeing the signature, then lifted his gaze toward the woman.
"Uh… Mrs. Malfoy, correct? I'm sorry, but at the moment no one is allowed to enter the prison, not even scheduled visitors. Not…"
"And who gave that order?" Narcissa asked in a sharp tone, cutting him off.
"Ahem. The Minister gave the order," the guard replied, clearing his throat, feeling a subtle pressure emanating from the woman before him. "The place is sealed until further notice, so I must ask you to leave. This is not the time to receive or attend to visits of any kind. Especially not right now," he added, trying to maintain his composure.
Narcissa let out a soft sigh.
As if weighing something in her mind.
But those words seemed to irritate her slightly.
She drew her wand as if preparing to leave. Studied it for a brief moment. Then raised her eyes toward the guards.
And moved.
Her wand flicked with such speed they did not even see it coming.
One spell struck a guard and hurled him backward violently against the stone wall. The other, startled, was about to retaliate, but before he could, he suddenly froze. His face went slack. Relaxed. Almost happy.
"Tell me what is happening. Why the place is sealed. What is going on inside and… about Bellatrix Lestrange," she said, her gaze locked on him with absolute seriousness.
"Yes. At this moment the prison is closed under a direct mandate from the Ministry of Magic to prevent any information about what happened from spreading. Several days ago, multiple Dementors completely lost control and began a massacre inside the prison. They devoured the souls of several inmates. A total of twenty were found kissed by Dementors without any official order. To prevent the news from reaching the outside world, the prison was entirely sealed. And among them… the Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange, as well as her husband, were found," the guard stated firmly. "Right now the prison is full of magical investigators and Hit Wizards examining what happened. The bodies were sent to the Unspeakables at the Ministry."
Narcissa seemed to fall into shock as she listened.
Especially upon hearing about the death of one of her sisters.
A faint dizziness struck her as she brought a hand to her head.
"Bella… dead?" she murmured, confused.
Kreacher's words echoed in her mind. It was the first possibility that came to her.
She had never expected this.
For years, Bellatrix had been the pride of the family.
The most devoted. The most loyal. The most feared.
But to Narcissa… she had always been a danger.
A walking fire with the Black name carved into her forehead.
Blood was blood.
Even if it was stained.
And now she might never see her again.
In her state of complete confusion, she began to notice more Dementors shifting in her direction.
Her attack had drawn their attention.
She glanced around quickly.
"Give me the list of the affected," Narcissa said sharply.
After hearing the names, she shot into the air, cloaked in black smoke, flying far enough to Apparate.
Without noticing that, very close to her, something that looked like an insect had been circling overhead.
It vanished in the exact same way.
…
Meanwhile, Harry and Draco were once again inside their hidden room, both wearing somewhat serious expressions. As if they were trying to process what had happened after the attack on Kreacher.
But since the adults had kept them out of the matter, all they could do was form theories without having the full picture.
Until they found more information.
"Aah… whatever. Sirius has plenty of enemies. Maybe one of them finally managed to track down his house," Harry said, trying to push away the irritation lingering in his mind.
Draco gave him a brief look, but his thoughts were elsewhere; on his mother's face and the concern he had seen in her eyes. He let out a quiet sigh.
"Fine. Let's go back to before. What did you need my help with?" Draco asked, perhaps as a way to distract himself. But more than ever, he felt something in his chest that refused to settle.
Harry seemed to notice.
"No. It's fine. You've got a lot on your mind. I'll ask someone else."
"Good. I… have something else to do," Draco replied, nodding without showing any curiosity about Harry's request. He left the room in a hurry, as if he were trying to escape that uncomfortable feeling still gnawing at him from the inside.
"Maybe we're overthinking it. Maybe it's not that serious," Harry muttered, pausing for a moment.
Already sensing that his own words would come back to hit him soon enough. And he hated being right at the worst possible time.
…
And that was exactly the next day.
Another special edition of the Daily Prophet began appearing all across the sky. Messenger owls carried multiple newspapers at once, dropping them everywhere. Even to those who were not subscribed.
As if this was something the entire world needed to know.
Harry grabbed one, assuming it might be yet another comment about him.
"Yeah. I should've expected this. The magical world always finds new ways to surprise you," he said dryly.
Draco, however, was already holding the paper in his hands, his expression darker than before. The worry only deepened as he read familiar names among the list printed there.
Among them… his aunt.
His fingers tightened slightly against the paper.
Then he lifted his gaze directly toward the person who had supposedly put his name into the Goblet out of nothing but blind admiration.
Pansy Parkinson.
Who, at that very moment, looked almost pleased to be called over by Draco.
As if she still did not understand the weight of what she had done.
He stared at her with a cold expression. Too cold.
Then he tossed the newspaper aside without taking his eyes off her.