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Chapter Text

Three brothers. Three artifacts of unimaginable power. An all seeing, all knowing deity. A tale of arrogance, regret and cunning, and the price paid in blood for challenging destiny. 

Everyone knew the story. The fairytale. The myth. First shared orally, as a cautionary tale, later in written form. Parents read it to children tucked away comfortably in their beds, old men recited it from memory to the youth, hoping the story would teach them to be cautious. 

Ages passed, generations rose and fell, and the story evolved, truth distorted by numerous retellings, rumors overtook facts, fuelled by the whispers of the foolish and unwary. The moral of the tale was forgotten, eclipsed by the allure of the hallows and the unimaginable power they promised. 

They were right, but not in the way they thought. 

The Hallows - as Death's gifts to the brothers came to be known as - were believed to have been lost to the tides of time, with no proper records of such items existing anywhere. People searched far and wide for the artifacts, they stole, killed and tortured for any information, any rumors, any clue. The search continued for years, decades into centuries. All on the premise that the one who could unite the Hallows, would become 'The master of Death'. 

What the common populace didn't know, what only those born into the House of Potter knew, was that the story of the three Brothers didn't end with the death of Ignotus. 

No. 

For the Potters, the story was never about Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus; that was merely a prologue. The story told within the walls of the Potter manor, was about a man named Antonius Peverell, many times grandson to Ignotus Peverell, elder brother to Iolanthe Peverell, wife to Hardwin Potter. The story spoke of a young man who had to watch his lovely wife slowly rot away under the effects of a blood malediction, and a young woman who wanted to be a mother so badly, that she risked her life for that dream. It spoke of a husband who loved his wife and unborn son so much that he dared to challenge Death itself. It spoke of a man who'd loved so deeply and fiercely that he risked the wrath of a primordial entity and commanded it to rewrite reality itself so that he could be with the ones he loved.

Attempting to bind a primordial being, had its consequences, and Antonius paid his price with his soul. Enraged by Antonius’ actions, Death cursed the Hallows to bring about nothing but death and destruction to any who sought their powers, and reclaimed the Peverell family magic. 

Atleast, that was how the story went. 

Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, Late December, 1992

The morning was quiet, and the castle itself appeared deep asleep, despite the few souls that were already up and about. Rubeus Hagrid was feeding the unicorn herd by the edge of the forbidden forest, talking to the young foals in his usual boisterous voice. In the Hospital wing, school mediwitch Poppy Pomphrey was taking stock of her potions store. In the headmaster's office, Fawkes the phoenix was trilling softly to the pair of parakeets at the window. 

On the quidditch pitch, a few older students were wrapping up their exercise regimen. There were a few fliers already in the air, slipping in and out through the goalposts, laughing and cheering. 

In the darkness of a dorm room cupboard, a diary sat opened, pages empty of letters yet brimming with magic most foul. The power contained within the pages pulsed on and off, not unlike a beating heart. For a moment, the pages shivered as if in anticipation, before the pulsing cut off abruptly and the page settled down. The object almost seemed content. 

The castle and its grounds were shrouded in an oppressive silence, that momentarily stilled all activity.

But the reprieve was fleeting.

A blood curdling scream cut through the cold morning air, and about four hundred souls jerked awake as one. With startled yelps and panicked breaths, the castle came alive. Panic's wildfire spread as students' frightened voices surged, overlapping and escalating into chaos. Concern gave way to bewildered fear, whispers of dread swirling through the corridors, before the headmaster's authoritative voice cut through the noise. 

"Attention all students and faculty members. As of this moment, the castle is on lockdown. No students shall be allowed to exit their dormitories, and the ones already outside are to report to the first teacher they can find, immediately. This is not a drill, nor a prank. Any student caught violating the instructions, will be expelled with extreme prejudice. A teacher will be sent to check in on the dorms shortly."

Deep within the cold and damp stone walls of the ancient castle, a horror had woken. In the cupboard, the book snapped itself close.

Chapter Text

MURDER AT HOGWARTS. POTIONS MASTER FOUND DEAD .

Renowned potions master and Hogwarts Professor Severus Tobias Snape was found brutally murdered within the castle walls early this morning. The corpse was found by resident mediwitch Poppy Pomphrey in the morning. The death was immediately ruled to be homicide, given the obvious evidence of torture on the body. Hogwarts has been temporarily closed in response to....... .(read more.)

AD Case No. 92#3423/09 Transcript #04

Witness:- Neville Longbottom

Interrogator:- Senior Auror Gavain Robards

Scribe:- Auror Trainee Susan Claridge

GR - State your full legal name, and your relationship with the victim.

NL - Neville Francis Longbottom. And Professor Snape is.... was my potions professor since last year. (Gulps nervously) We did not like each other. He always picked on me and my friends. He was verbally abusive, and never wasted an opportunity to humiliate me or my friends.

GR - Your friends being.....

NL - Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Faye Dunbar.

GR - So, it's safe to say that your relationship with late Professor Snape was extremely antagonistic. 

NL - Umm...I guess.

GR - Is it true that during your first year at Hogwarts, you and your friends suspected that Professor Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher's stone to revive the Dark Lord He-who-must-not-be-named?

NL - Well.... It's more compli…

GR - Answer with yes or no, please.

NL - Um...Yes?

GR - Thank you. Now, your housemates reported that you were not present in the common room or your dorms the entire afternoon on the day before the murder. Where were you?

NL - In the greenhouses by the lake. It's relaxing.

GR - And what was it that you were unwinding from?

NL - I was having these intense headaches since the morning, and Ron - that's Ronald Weasley was fighting with his sister about some diary of hers..... And Ron can be really loud when he's angry. So, I left the common room. 

GR - And when did you return to the common room?

NL - Just before dinner.

GR - Did you spend the entire afternoon in the greenhouse?

NL - No.... I left the greenhouse around 5. I....

The witness appeared extremely confused at this point. He seemed totally unable to recall his memories. A short examination showed the witness to be suffering from a ill placed memory charm. The witness's wand, upon checking, showed that the last spell used was Obliviate. The spell appeared incomplete, as if it was done in a hurry.

GR - Let's continue, we'll circle back to it later. What did you do after dinner?

NL - I uhhh..... I don't remember. 

GR - What's the last thing you do remember?

NL - Going to see Madam Pomphrey. I remember being unable to sleep. She gave me a dreamless sleep potion. 

AD Case No. 92#3423/09 Transcript #09

Witness:- Poppy Pomphrey 

Interrogator:- Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt

Scribe:- Auror Trainee Steven Blackthorn

KS - Hey, Poppy. 

PP - Kings.

KS - Sorry about this, but please state your full legal name and your relationship with the victim.

PP - Persephone Calliope Pomphrey. I was Severus' mentor during his attempt to clear the Novice healer accreditation required for his Potions mastery. When he assumed his position as the Potions Professor at Hogwarts, we became quick friends, and remained as such till.....

KS - Ah. It says that you were the one who found the body. 

PP -(nodded sadly.)

KS - I am truly sorry for your loss, Poppy. I can imagine how hard it must be for you. Whenever you want a break, you only need to tell me, and we can stop. 

PP - I appreciate that, Kingsley. But, I'd rather we get this over with now.

KS - I understand. Now, Why were you in his private lab at that time of the day?

PP - As you know, Severus is the one who supplies the necessary potions required for the hospital wing. I had run out of Pepper-ups and Dreamless Sleep the day before, and.....

KS - Hold on. Is that a usual occurrence? If I remember correctly, Pepper-up usually comes in demand towards the end of the year, and Dreamless Sleep is not something that's given out in large quantities.

PP - (Sigh) It's not. This year has been.....weird, you could say. A lot of students have been claiming to be experiencing intense nightmares throughout the term. Albus and Severus had suspected that some student had smuggled in some sort of dark artefact. I was told that the teachers had searched the dorms thoroughly, but nothing had turned up. Then there was the disappearance of the Ravenclaw ghost. The other school ghosts are agitated because of it. 

KS - When was this?

PP - Sometime around Halloween. Everyone's been on edge since then. 

KS - As much as I'd love to dive into this, I'm afraid we need to stay on topic here. Now, after you found Professor Snape's body, what did you do?

PP - I immediately sent word to Albus, before sec....

Note:- The interview was interrupted by the explosion in room 207. Poppy Pomphrey was excused and ordered to present herself for the rest of her interview at a later date. However, initial assessment notes that the matron's involvement in the case to be highly unlikely, and beyond her notes as the first responder on scene, the witness's priority has been reassigned to level Delta. 

For the mediwitch's notes, see Tab 7, Tag green. 

Incident report C207#92/17085

Undersigned Kingsley Shacklebolt, Senior Auror.

First Responders:- Kingsley Shacklebolt, Steven Blackthorn, Rufus Scrimgeor, Persephone Pomphrey (MW )

Myself, Poppy, and Steven were the first to arrive on scene, immediately after the explosion at 14:57 hours. Rufus arrived shortly after, and conceded command to myself, after which he proceeded to rally the rescue teams and healers. 

Interrogation room 207 was completely destroyed, and the floor beneath had collapsed partially, cutting off the access in and out of the archives below. Preliminary scans showed 6 live signatures trapped in the rubble. Auror Trainee Susan Claridge was found dead, impaled on a steel beam. A Hogwarts House elf, whom Poppy identified as Hockey, was found laughing hysterically on top of the debris, bashing its head violently on the concrete. The elf was stunned and taken into custody immediately. 

Neville Longbottom, Gawain Robards, Cecily Richards, and Kevin Smith were recovered from the rubble by myself and Steven Blackthorn, and were administered immediate medical care by Poppy. Both Longbottom and Robards were found to be suffering from concussion and broken bones, and were transferred to St. Mungos under the custody of Steven Blackthorn and Rufus Scrimgeor. 

Initial assessment shows that Longbottom heir to be the intended target of the attack. Claridge had presumably shielded Longbottom, preventing any major injury. 

Possible inquiry needed to ascertain why an underage Heir was detained and interrogated without an adult guardian present. 

Preliminary examination further points to the traces of the same potion mixture as seen on Severus Snape's body at Hogwarts. Possible connection between the cases cannot be ignored. The house Elf Hockey is detained in Cell 22B for further interrogation. 

MAYHEM IN THE MINISTRY! EXPLOSION LANDS LONGBOTTOM AND THREE AURORS AT ST. MUNGO'S. ONE DEAD.

Following the gruesome murder of Hogwarts Professor Severus Snape, another attack strikes right in the heart of the ministry, this time against Neville Longbottom, who was providing testimony to the aurors regarding the murder. Inside sources claim one junior Auror dead, along with three others in critical condition. The Longbottom heir himself is reportedly in a coma...... read more.

AD Case No. 92#3423/09 Transcript #43

Witness:- Hermione Jean Granger 

Interrogator:- Senior Jonathan Proudfoot

Scribe:- Auror Trainee Steven Blackthorn

JP - State your full legal name and your relationship with the victim.

HG - Hermione Jean Granger. I was a student of Professor Snape's. 

JP - I have here with me, Neville Longbottom’s interview transcript, where he states that Professor Snape was highly antagonistic towards him and his friends, including you. Is this statement correct?

The witness appeared highly uncomfortable at the question. She seemed hesitant to answer.

HG - Ye- Yes.

JP - What do you think caused such behaviour from the Professor's end?

HG - I don't know. He was like that from the very first period we had with him. The older students had warned us that the professor was mean towards anyone other than the Slytherins. 

JP - What can you tell us about the events on the evening before the murder?

HG - It was quite normal, much like every other day. 

JP- No unusual occurrences?

HG - Well, Neville has been complaining about a headache all day, which could be considered unusual. He rarely got sick. He'd joked that it was most likely due to Ron's ongoing argument with Ginny. To be fair, Ron does tend to get loud when he's angry. 

JP - When did that argument begin?

HG - That morning, soon after we woke up. Ginny had accused Ron of going through her stuff, and stealing her diary….. well, she accused the twins first. And believe me, I know how ridiculous it sounds, boys can't even get into the girls' dorms, which I would've pointed out to her had she calmed down for a minute. 

JP - (Grinning) Ah, trust me, it wouldn't have gone the way you wanted anyway. I'd worked with Gideon and Fabian Prewett during the war. The Prewett temper is legendary. 

The witness seemed bit more comfortable at this point. She offered a small smile, relaxing into her chair. 

JP - Now, Miss Granger, your files and your friends’ testimonials show me that you have quite the memory. A near perfect recall. Impressive. What's even more impressive is the perfect O’s you've gained for all the subjects you've taken. Even for Potions. You must be proud. Now, with that in mind, I ask again, was there anything unusual that happened during the year at Hogwarts?

The uncomfortable look returned at this point. The witness appeared more self conscious and panicked. 

HG - Umm…. There was this one thing….. 

JP - Dobby, right?

HG - (Looking stunned) Ho..How?

JP - We'd interviewed Ron Weasley yesterday. I assume you know that the elf named Dobby belongs to the Malfoys, yes?

HG - Yes…ummm, I know.

JP - And how exactly did you come by that knowledge?

…..

JP - No answer? Don't worry. We can move on. Today, earlier in the morning,  we'd interviewed a fifth year Slytherin, named Gemma Fawley. Are you familiar with her?

HG - (Nods hesitantly) She's a perfect. 

JP - She had this really interesting story to share. Do you know what that story was, Miss Granger?

HG - ……..

JP - I was being truthful earlier, you know. You are an incredible witch, Miss Granger. In my entire career of nearly 30 years, I've never seen a second year student who has successfully brewed and tested the Polyjuice potion. Like I said, impressive.

HG - ……

JP - I only have one more question left. I suggest you answer it truthfully, and I swear, things would go much smoother for you. Where did you brew the potion?

HG - (panicked) I would like to leave, please.

JP - Ofcourse. After you've answered my question.

HG - I want to go. Please.

JP - Just answer the question, miss Granger.

HG - Please….

The witness became completely incoherent after this point, and soon broke down into hysteric behaviour. A healer was summoned and the witness forcibly sedated. 

End transcript .

New and unexpected  twists in the Hogwarts murder investigation! Suspects in custody.

Daily Prophet January 11, 1993

Victory DMLE’s or Minister Fudge's? Accusations of corruption rising from within the ministry.

Daily Prophet January 13, 1993

Amelia Bones Resigns. Accuses ministry of tampering evidence. 

Daily Prophet January 15, 1993

Cornelius Fudge: Hero or Villain? 

Daily Prophet January 16, 1993

Chapter Text

Pain was an old friend at that point, a constant companion that refused to leave her side. Right now, it wore the face of her father, and the leather whip he wielded. The lashes it left on her back stung, as the skin split apart layer by layer after each strike. Father was scarily accurate with that thing. The strikes rarely missed the target, each landing precisely on the same spot.

She kept her head down, biting hard on her lips, valiantly keeping the scream contained within her throat. Crying never helped, rather only made things worse. Father hated hearing her scream. He hit harder whenever she did.

So, she kept silent, not moving an inch, not even flinching, as the gash on her back opened up further. It wasn't new, and it would be healed by sunrise anyway. Pain was familiar. Unwanted as it was, at least she knew pain.

The lashes kept on coming, the man holding the whip hitting as hard and as fast as his strength could let him. He kept screaming obscenities and curses as loud as he could, never taking a moment to breathe.

And then, with one last hit, it stopped.

She waited for another moment or two, not daring to peep, not daring to move. When it was certain that the lashes truly stopped, she carefully, slowly pulled out a short, rounded stick from her left sleeve, gripping its slightly flared handle. She took one, long shaky breath, and carefully shifted her body so that she could aim the stick properly.

Conflundum abintus.

First a gasp, followed by a grunt, and then a growl that gradually faded into a whine. It wasn't until a full minute had passed that the screaming started, prompting her to finally look up. The man was kneeling on the floor, frantically clawing at his face and chest in a desperate attempt to rip through his shirt and robes.

Blood and pus trickled down his eyes, mixing with tears of agony. His fingers, slick with the fluids, came away with the skin they'd dug into, stretching it like rubber. As he clawed, his flesh began to sag, like wax melting in a furnace. His eyes bulged, threatening to burst from their sockets, and his mouth hung open, revealing jagged teeth stained with blood and bile. The air was heavy with the stench of decay and corruption, and she could feel it settle down on her like a comforting blanket.

His body began to contort, twisting in ways that seemed humanly impossible. His limbs elongated, stretching like rubber bands, and his skin rippled with strange, pulsing growths. The screams grew louder, more anguished, and his eyes rolled back in his head, revealing only whites. She laid there watching, with a mixture of morbid curiosity and satisfaction as the bundle of flesh that once was a man melted down into a puddle of blood and pus.

“He doesn't look that scary like this.” She spoke in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

They rarely do. For all their power, men usually face death on their knees, crying and pleading. Spoke a voice, distinctly male, in her head.

Giggling at the dry tone, she poked at the puddle with the stick in her hand, half expecting the man to rise up from it. When nothing happened, she got to her feet, dusting off the dirt from her clothes.

“Did I do good, Tom?” She asked.

You did splendidly, child. Now you're truly free.

“What should we do now?”

Aren't you hungry, child? You haven't eaten anything all day.

She perked up at the mention of food. “And then?”

We wait until Hogwarts reopens.

“What if they find out what we did? What if….”

I'll protect you, child. I always will. No one will hurt you ever again.

“You promise?”

I promise.

12 Grimmauld Place, London

The dimly lit hallway, once a testament to the opulent tastes of the House of Black, now stood as a sterile, stripped-bare monument. The old, dark green wallpaper, with its intricate patterns and faded grandeur, had been replaced by pristine white paint, its brightness a jarring contrast to the shadows that lingered. The air was thick with the scent of fresh paint and the faintest hint of decay, a reminder that even the most fastidious attempts at renovation could not entirely erase the past.

Even the magic that permeated the air seemed to have undergone a transformation. The oppressive, suffocating quality that once characterized the house's aura had given way to a cold, calculated comfort. Yet, despite this change, the power that lingered within the walls remained unchanged, its presence still palpable, a buzzing energy that seemed to vibrate against the skin. Lucius couldn't help but wonder if this transformation was a deliberate attempt to erase the dark legacy of the House of Black, or merely a superficial facade, a thin veneer of respectability applied to a foundation of rot and decay.

Lucius's aversion to the house was a deeply ingrained sentiment, one that had taken root the moment he first stepped inside, a young man fresh out of Hogwarts, seeking the then Lord Black's permission to court Narcissa. The house had felt oppressive, its dark, gloomy atmosphere suffocating, and its intimidating presence had left an indelible mark on his psyche. Every detail, from the blood-red carpet to the ornate mantelpieces, seemed to whisper warnings of danger, echoing the House of Black's notorious reputation for darkness and power.

The memories of that day still lingered, a persistent reminder of the feelings of inadequacy that had long plagued Lucius. He recalled the sense of smallness, of insignificance, that had washed over him as he stood within the grandeur of the Black estate. The weight of his family's name, the accumulated wealth and influence of generations, had not been enough to assuage the feeling of unworthiness that had taken root within him. Decades had passed since that day, yet the sensation remained, a nagging reminder that there existed realms beyond his grasp, no matter how far his family's reach extended.

Even the house-elf leading him down the hallway exuded an air of quiet confidence, its pride and self-assurance a rarity among its kind. The elf's attire, immaculately clean and tailored with precision, only served to highlight Lucius's own sartorial shortcomings, making him feel dull and unkempt by comparison. The elf's very presence was a subtle yet potent reminder of the refined elegance that Lucius felt he could never quite attain.

He hated it.

Lucius's thoughts were so consumed by his own insecurities that he almost failed to notice the elf come to a stop before an ornate door to the right. The soft knock that followed was a gentle prompt, a discrete signal that their journey had reached its destination. As the elf vanished into the shadows, Lucius was left standing alone, his hand instinctively smoothing his robes as he adjusted the cane in his hand, a nervous gesture that betrayed his growing unease

With a loud click, the door slowly swung open, revealing a well-organized office inside. The first thing he noticed was the floor-to-ceiling window that took up most of the wall facing the door. A large table sat in the center of the room, with tall cupboards in the corner on either side. The chair behind the table was occupied by a woman, who seemed lost in the bundle of parchments on the table. Lucius tapped his cane on the floor impatiently.

The woman looked up, and Lucius's breath caught in his chest. She looked like a perfect copy of Bellatrix, only slightly younger and more put together. Once he put a name to the face, Lucius felt so insulted.

“Andromeda,” His words were biting. “I was under the impression that you were thrown out of the family.”

The woman smiled. It was sharp and predatory. “I'm sure you were.”

Lucius bit his tongue at the first remark that came up, and grimaced. “I was asked to meet with Lord Black.”

“I'm aware.” The smile never faded, and Lucius felt like she was mocking him. “Lord Black is busy with other things, and has asked me to meet with you on his behalf. Sit down, we have a lot to talk about.”

“I can't imagine what.” Lucius drawled in a bored tone.

“Indulge me, Lucius.” Andromeda said, setting aside the bundle of parchments, and leaning forward. “I imagine you've been keeping up with the current events happening in and out of Hogwarts, being a governor and all.”

“Yes.” He bit out, voice strained. He was aware, oh, he certainly was. From the moment he'd deposited that diary in the youngest Weasley’s cauldron, he had been dreaming about how the school would finally be cleansed of Dumbledore’s influence and the mudbloods’ stench, just like the Dark Lord had promised. He had waited for months, with bated breath for Draco’s owl, signaling the start of things. And each day that passed without any news, he grew anxious. Until the news came.

And it wasn't what he imagined at all.

Lucius swallowed nervously at the thought. Things had gone terribly wrong, and he had no idea what to do. Severus, his closest friend was dead, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was his fault.

“What do you think, Lucius?” Andromeda asked, her tone curious. “There are talks in certain circles that Albus has finally begun to lose his touch. You've been on the board for years. I'd love your insight.”

“Huh? Yeah, umm… Dumbledore, yeah.” Lucius cringed internally at the unintentional word vomit.

Andromeda's well groomed eyebrow curved upward, mocking him, as her eyes took on an amused shine. “So eloquent, Lucius.”

Lucius's gaze dropped, his eyes fixed on the floor as he struggled to marshal his thoughts. His original plan, meticulously crafted and honed over time, had been to manipulate events from behind the scenes, orchestrating the ousting of Dumbledore and installing a more pliable figure in his place - Severus, perhaps, or another individual more receptive to his suggestions. The ultimate goal, of course, had been to present Hogwarts to the Dark Lord on a silver platter, a gesture of fealty and loyalty that would cement his own position within the new order.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. The cursed diary, that insidious and manipulative artifact, had seen fit to destroy his most trusted ally, the one individual who had been more than just a mere acquaintance - a surrogate younger brother, if he were to admit the truth. The brutality of the act still lingered, a festering wound that refused to heal. The consequences of that event had been far-reaching, drastically altering the trajectory of his plans and forcing him to reevaluate his priorities. And so, in a cruel twist of fate, he found himself bound to the very individual he had once sought to supplant - Dumbledore. The old man, it seemed, had become an unlikely insurance policy, a deterrent against the unpredictable. Should events take a turn for the worse, Dumbledore's presence would serve as a deterrent, the only line of defence.

“The headmaster and I have never been on good terms,” he began carefully, “and I suspect we never will. But honestly, I'd rather have him occupied with the matters of the school than give that meddling fool more free time on his hands.” He paused for effect. “Who knows what troubles the old man is capable of cooking up.”

Andromeda sat silently, her cool gaze never leaving Lucius. “Tell me the truth, Lucius. What exactly was expected to happen at Hogwarts when you gave Ginevra that diary?”

Lucius choked. For a moment he considered drawing his wand, his fingers curling around the handle. Andromeda, seeing his action, simply leaned back in her chair with a smile, completely unbothered.

“Really, Lucius? Let's forget about the sheer number of protective enchantments this room hosts for a moment and focus on skill alone. There's a reason why even my dear sister Bella rarely dared to raise her wand against me. I'm sure Cissa must have told you some stories of what happened in those rare instances when she did try. The only one who's ever kept up with me was Sirius, and you, dear Lucius, are not him.”

Andromeda hummed in amusement as she watched Lucius’ fingers loosen. “Well, you were always smart enough to recognise when to quit, I'll give you that. Now, I'm sure there are a million other things you'd rather be doing instead of standing here talking to me. So let's get on with it, shall we?”

Snowflakes danced in the fading light, casting a serene silence over the castle grounds as the old man ascended to the top of the tower. The grounds, already blanketed in a thin layer of snow, glistened like polished marble, and the lake’s glassy surface reflected the somber mood that had settled over the old man. His eyes, etched with a deep sadness, washed over the grounds with a solemn intensity, as if searching for solace in the stillness.

The tower, with its stone walls and imposing presence, had always been a sanctuary for the old man, a place where he could escape the burdens of his office and find a measure of peace. Many students before him, and after, had shared his affection for this secluded spot, drawn by the sense of calm and tranquility that pervaded the atmosphere. Yet, on this evening, the old man’s usual sense of serenity eluded him. His face, set in a grimace, seemed to reflect the turmoil that churned within him.

As he stood at the edge of the tower, his eyes followed the Thestral herd as they made their way towards the forest, their ghostly forms glowing softly in the fading light. The giant man who trailed behind them seemed a looming presence, a dark specter that cast a long shadow across the snow-covered grounds. Though the old man’s gaze remained fixed on the distant scene, he was aware of the movement behind him, the soft footsteps that signaled the arrival of another.

“Minerva,” he greeted, his voice low and soothing, as the woman emerged from the stairway. “You have news, I believe?”

The woman’s face was etched with concern, her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. “Aye,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion. “Those fools are moving forward with their plan. Arrests will be made tomorrow morning.”

The old man’s expression turned somber, his eyes clouding with a deep sadness. “So, Cornelius has finally decided to take a stand.”

“What about Madam Tonks? Did she…?”

"She did," the old man replied, shaking his head. "Lucius sang like a canary, but the information he provided is too sensitive to be revealed to the Ministry. She agrees."

Minerva’s voice rose, her Scottish accent thickening with emotion. “So that’s it, then? These are children, Albus. Innocent, vulnerable children. And you exp….”

Though the old man’s expression remained calm, his tone took on a steely edge as he cut her off. “I am well aware of the situation, Minerva. The situation is unpleasant, but not unexpected.” He turned, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “I believe Fawkes should be arriving any moment now.”

As if on cue, a blaze of fire erupted from the space between the old man and Minerva, and a majestic Phoenix arose from the flames. The bird’s eyes shone like bright rubies as it offered the old man a rolled parchment, which he accepted with a gentle smile.

As he unrolled the parchment, his eyes scanned the contents, a look of relief washing over his face. Minerva noticed the change and stepped forward, her eyes questioning. “Good news, I take it?”

The old man’s face lit up with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with a hint of triumph. “It most certainly is, my dear friend. It most certainly is.” He turned to her, his voice taking on a sense of urgency. “How soon can you send a message to the children? No owls, I want you to meet them personally.”

Minerva nodded, her face set in a determined expression. “I can leave immediately. What’s the plan?”

The old man’s smile grew wider, his eyes twinkling. “Cornelius is expecting to face off against me. He thinks that I would jump right in front of his wand, in defence of my students. He is going to be sorely disappointed when he learns just who he's going to face in the courtroom standing against him.”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed, her expression questioning. “Who?”

Chapter Text

The funeral was a somber and melancholic occasion, a muted farewell to a life that had been marked by complexity and controversy. The turnout was sparse, comprising a small coterie of Hogwarts staff and a handful of Slytherin alumni who had gathered to pay their respects. Lucius Malfoy and Benjamin Nott made a brief, furtive appearance at the rear of the assembly, their presence a fleeting whisper of the shadows that had long dogged Severus Snape's tenure. They vanished as suddenly as they appeared, disappearing into the anonymity of the crowd the moment the body was laid to rest.

As Albus Dumbledore stood amidst the mourners, his eyes clouded with a deep and abiding sorrow. He couldn't help but reflect on the tragic trajectory of Severus Snape's life, a career that had been marked by brilliance and bitterness in equal measure. Despite the countless opportunities for redemption, despite the second chances that had been offered and accepted,Severus had ultimately died as he had lived: a solitary figure, feared and reviled by many, and loved by precious few.

In death, Severus Snape had left behind a meager legacy - a small, meticulously maintained house that had borne witness to his troubled childhood, a handful of patents that testified to his innovative genius, and a modest yet rare collection of tomes devoted to the Dark Arts and Potions. These few, tangible remnants seemed a paltry epitaph for a life that had been marked by such complexity and tumult. For it was not these material possessions that would serve as Severus's true legacy, but rather the countless scars, both physical and emotional, that he had inflicted upon those around him, and the nightmares that would continue to haunt them long after his passing.

The soft crunch of gravel beneath mismatched footsteps echoed through the stillness, rousing Albus from his contemplative reverie. The pungent aroma of fire whiskey wafted towards him, announcing the identity of his companion. Albus's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his eyes narrowing slightly as he steeled himself for the weight of the words that were to come. If the news he was about to receive truly as dire as he was expecting, the choices that lay ahead were uncertain at best, and dangerous at worst. 

“A meeting like this brings back memories, and not the good ones.” Alastor spoke, stepping in right next to Albus. 

“The Salisbury incident,” Albus said, his voice barely a whisper. “May 1969. I'm not sure it is forgettable.”

“Well, we atleast knew what the fuck was happening back then.” Alastor snorted. “Now, nothing. Not even a whisper, Albus.”

“No, I had expected as much.” The aged wizard sighed tiredly. “Do you remember the Quincy case?”

“Aye. And I get what you mean. The M.O is scarily similar.” Alastor grunted as he took a swig from his flask. “Those were the early years, though. Are you telling me the bastard’s feeling nostalgic?” He turned to look at his oldest friend, his mechanical eye spinning in its socket.

Albus let out a strained chuckle at that. “No, he wasn't one for nostalgia. I'm saying we might.” He tore his eyes from the horizon towards the retired Auror. “I heard an interesting story from Lucius Malfoy a few days ago. He confirmed one of my theories.”

“Which one?”

“The one we're least prepared for.”

Alastor didn't react, but Albus had known the man long enough to tell exactly what was going through his head. The man nodded slowly, before taking another, long drink from his flask. 

“Well, retirement was as boring as I'd imagined it to be. Once more into the breach then, aye?” He held the flask towards Albus, who took it without a word.

Albus stared at the flask for a long moment before taking a sip. “Once more into the breach, old friend.”

The caverns stretched out before them, a labyrinthine expanse of damp, cold air that seemed to swallow the faint glow of their torches whole. The rusty, squeaky cart that had borne them thus far ground to a halt, its metal frame shrieking in protest as it came to rest against the rough-hewn stone wall. The sound echoed through the caverns, a jarring, discordant note that seemed to reverberate deep within the chest.

The goblin was the first to alight, his movements accompanied by a loud, guttural grunt that seemed to shake the very air around them. The sound was a primal, elemental thing, a raw expression of emotion that seemed to speak to some deep, atavistic part of the soul. It echoed off the cold, chiseled stone walls, a low, thrumming vibration that seemed to hang in the air long after the sound itself had faded.

The boy, on the other hand, moved with a far greater degree of caution, his eyes scanning the surrounding darkness with a mixture of fear and trepidation. His movements were quiet, almost furtive, as if he feared being observed, or overheard. The amber light of the torches they carried cast flickering, eerie shadows on the walls as they moved, illuminating the fear that lurked in both of their eyes with stark, unflinching clarity.

The duo came to a halt before a massive granite door, its surface adorned with an eerie, intricate depiction of Death. The carving seemed to loom over them, its presence both ominous and foreboding. The goblin stepped to the side, its eyes fixed intently on the boy as he faced the door. The air was heavy with anticipation, the silence between them palpable.

"This is as far as I go," the goblin growled, its voice low and menacing. The boy's gaze never wavered from the door, his eyes fixed on the carved image with a mixture of fascination and trepidation.

"Remember, the trial starts the moment you touch the door," the goblin warned, its words dripping with an air of foreboding.

The boy nodded slowly, his movements mechanical as he shook his arms as if to awaken them from a deep slumber. "Couldn't we have done this later, like when I had an actual adult with me?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

The goblin's response was a curt, dismissive gesture. "The trial is for you and you alone, no adult can assist you."

The boy's eyes lingered on the goblin's face for a moment, as if searching for some glimmer of reassurance. Finding none, he steeled himself and stepped forward, his right hand reaching out to make contact with the granite door. His fingers made a soft slapping sound as they touched the cold stone, and he felt a sudden jolt of electricity run through his veins.

He stared up at the carved image, his eyes locked on the grim visage of Death. His voice was barely above a whisper as he muttered, "here goes nothing,”

With a loud crack, the door opened inwards. The boy looked to his companion, who merely nodded before stepping back. 

“Some guide you are,” the boy muttered under his breath before stepping into the vault. The interior was a masterclass in elegance and refinement, with walls and a roof adorned in pure white ceramic that seemed to glow with an ethereal light. The air was heavy with an expectant silence, as if the very space itself was waiting with bated breath to reveal its secrets.

The vault lay empty, save for a small, ornate table situated at its center. Upon the table rested an object shrouded in mystery, its presence seeming to draw the boy in with an otherworldly allure. His curiosity piqued, the boy took a step forward, his eyes fixed intently on the table.

But his approach was halted abruptly by the sudden manifestation of a ghostly apparition. The specter coalesced before him, its presence accompanied by a faint, eerie glow that seemed to seep from its very being.

"Greetings, descendant," the apparition intoned, its voice low and sonorous as it bowed deep and low. "Tell me, what journey led you here to me? What treasure do you seek?"

The boy stood tall, his shoulders stiff and his head held high as he met the apparition's gaze. "History, honoured elder," he replied, his voice firm and resolute. "I seek to understand the legacy left to me, in order to determine my path to the future."

The apparition's gaze lingered on the boy's determined countenance for a moment, before a faint, enigmatic smile spread across its face. "History, you say?" it repeated, its voice dripping with a hint of skepticism. "Are you sure, lad? This vault contains more than mere memories and ghosts. It can also offer you power beyond comprehension."

The boy's eyes flicked towards the table, his gaze drawn inexorably to the mysterious object resting upon it. The apparition's smile deepened, its eyes glinting with a knowing light. "Ah, yes. The Trinity. In your hands, they could rewrite reality itself. What's history to a God?"

The boy's response was a soft, measured tone. "Even Gods fall to Death, Elder."

The apparition's smile never wavered. "And if I tell you that you could master Death?"

The boy's laughter was a sudden, joyous sound that seemed to shatter the very air around him. "I may be young, elder," he said, his voice dripping with a hint of amusement. "But a fool, I am not."

The apparition's chuckle was a soft, melancholic sound. "No, a fool you are not, young one," it agreed, its eyes glinting with a deep, abiding respect. "Allow me to introduce myself, descendant. I am Antonius Peverell, the cursed soul, Guardian of the Trinity. Ask your questions, grandchild, my knowledge is at your disposal."

The boy's bow was a deep, respectful gesture. "I'm honoured to have met you, Elder," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I'm Harry James Potter, the last Potter, and the last Peverell, it seems. I'd like to hear your story, if you don't mind.”

Minerva McGonagall emerged from the floor, her eyes scanning the bustling corridor with a practiced air of detachment. With a subtle flick of her wand, the soot that had accumulated on her robes vanished, leaving her attire immaculate once more. She navigated the throng of witches and wizards with ease, her long strides eating up the distance as she made her way towards the elevator.

The corridor was a hive of activity, ministry memos flitting through the air like restless birds, while aurors and Unspeakables went about their duties with a sense of quiet purpose. Reporters lingered at the periphery, their eyes scanning the crowds with a hungry intensity that Minerva pretended not to notice.

As she approached the elevator, a tall, imposing figure clad in burgundy robes caught her eye. His bald head gleamed in the fluorescent lighting, and the plain walking stick he leaned on seemed to be more of an affectation than a necessity. Minerva's gaze met his, and she offered a curt, casual greeting. "Tiberius. They really are going forward with a full trial, then.”

“Hope Albus has a solid plan for this, Minerva.” Tiberius said with a tilt of his head. “That new under-secretary of Fudge, she's a vile, twisted piece of work. Word is that Fudge is letting her run point on this.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “I don't know what Albus has planned, to be honest. He hasn't told me a thing.”

Tiberius let out a grunt as the elevator opened up with a ding. A few workers rushed out, before the two of them stepped in. Tiberius pushed the button to Level 10. 

“Listen,” he leaned in close. “There have been some talks, whispers mostly, about certain plans regarding Hogwarts. Money is being thrown around, favors too, if you know what I mean.”

A sense of foreboding settled in the pit of Minerva's stomach, its weight growing with each passing moment. Her heart rate quickened, her fingers beginning to fidget with the hem of her sleeves as a creeping sense of unease took hold. A cold, clammy sensation spread over her, like a shroud of dread.

"The DMLE has been in an uproar since Amelia resigned," Tiberius whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the elevator. "There's been talks about how she drew her wand on the minister himself. And then there was that thing about replacing Griselda as chief witch." Tiberius's words hung in the air, heavy with portent.

"Some major moves are being made," he continued, his eyes locked intently on Minerva's face. "I don't like this, Minerva. Ask Albus to watch his step today."

Minerva's mind reeled, her thoughts racing with the implications of Tiberius's words. She knew that Albus wasn't planning on taking the defence, that he had someone else in mind. But did he know about the machinations unfolding behind the scenes? The questions swirled in her mind, refusing to be silenced.

The elevator lurched to a stop, the doors sliding open with a soft whoosh. Tiberius gave Minerva a long, searching look before stepping out into the corridor. Minerva followed, her movements mechanical as she trailed behind him.

As she entered the courtroom, a sense of déjà vu washed over her. She had been here twice before, both times during the dark, tumultuous days of the war. Once, during the testimony of Severus Snape, and again during the ill-fated trial of Sirius Black. That had been the last time Albus had taken on the role of Chief Warlock, and Minerva couldn't help but wonder if history was about to repeat itself.

The courtroom was a circular, amphitheatre-like space, with the dais for the Chief Warlock/witch positioned directly opposite the entrance. The Minister of Magic's seat was situated to the right of the dais, while the accused would sit on the floor, a position of deliberate vulnerability. The Wizengamot sat to the left, their seats arranged in a tiered, stadium-like fashion, with the front row situated on the floor and the rest rising upwards in a gentle, sweeping curve.

As Minerva's eyes adjusted to the bright, fluorescent lighting, she took in the crowded room. The spectators' section was packed to capacity, the air thick with the hum of conversation and the rustle of robes. Her gaze landed on Albus, who stood tall and unruffled, engaged in a heated discussion with the Minister. The Minister's face was red, his eyes bulging with indignation, while Albus's expression remained serene.

“....this is foolish to the extreme, Cornelius. I must implore you to drop the charges and walk away while you still can.” Albus's pleading voice reached her ears as she walked closer. 

“Or what, Dumbledore? You can't intimidate me into dropping this.” Fudge snapped, his face almost purple with rage. “The days when you dictated everything is over, you better get it into your head, Dumbledore. You had had free and unsupervised reign over that school for years, and it's coming to an end. That's my final word on the matter.”

Dumbledore sighed. “So be it. Remember, Cornelius, I gave you the chance to walk away.”

“Are you threatening me?” Fudge sputtered. “Better save your speech for the defence, Dumbledore. This won't be easy for you.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Oh, I'm here purely as a material witness, Cornelius. I won't be handling the defence.” He looked up and straight at Minerva. “It appears my colleague is here. We'll talk more later.”

Minerva watched as the Minister stared at Dumbledore's back with his mouth agape, before hurrying towards his seat. Albus nodded at Minerva in greeting. 

“Albus…” she started as he gently nudged her towards the witness's gallery. 

“Worry not, my dear. Infact, I think you'll find the proceedings particularly enjoyable today.” He said with his usual smile and a relaxed tone. For a brief moment, Minerva had a flashback to a time when she caught James Potter and Sirius Black in the corridor, right before a school-wide prank went off. It did not help her nerves. 

A few moments later, she watched as her old friend Griselda Marchbanks took her seat in the Chief Witch’s chair and banged her gavel. 

“The time is 10:30 on January 25, 1993. I Griselda Marchbanks, Chief Witch of the Wizengamot, declares the court in session. Ministry of Magic vs Neville Francis Longbottom, Hermione Jean Granger, and Ronald Bilius Weasley on the murder of Severus Tobias Snape. Bring in the accused.”

The doors to the antechamber creaked open, their hinges groaning softly as they swung wide. Two aurors emerged first, their faces set in stern, impassive lines. Behind them, a trio of young figures stumbled into view, their faces etched with the unmistakable marks of trauma.

The sandy-haired boy and the red-haired boy with freckles both looked as pale as a ghost, their complexions drained of all warmth and vitality. Dark circles ringed their eyes, a testament to the long, sleepless nights they had endured. The red-haired boy's freckles stood out in stark relief against his pale skin, giving him a fragile, otherworldly appearance.

By contrast, the brown-haired girl was a picture of quiet despair. Tears streamed silently down her face, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying. Her body shook with silent sobs, her slender frame wracked with emotion as she struggled to come to terms with the ordeal she had endured.

Once the children were seated, the Minister stood up. “Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic, for the prosecution.”

Murmurs rose amongst the visitors and the Wizengamot members alike. The Chief Witch banged her gavel forcefully, the sound reverberating within the chamber like a thunderclap. “I'll say this once. Anyone so much as whispers out of turn during this proceeding, will be thrown out of the courtroom without hesitation. There will be no warnings.” She looked around, before focusing on Fudge. “This is highly irregular, Minister. The prosecution of a criminal case is usually…..”

“Handled by the head of DMLE, I'm aware, Chief Witch.” Fudge interjected. “However, since the abrupt resignation of the former head, Amelia Bones, a new candidate is yet to be determined to take on the post. The Minister's office has assumed responsibility temporarily. You'll find the necessary documents present, ma'am.”

“Be that as it may, there's a reason why the DMLE exists outside the purview of the ministry, Mr. Fudge.” Griselda spoke carefully, frowning as she checked the papers.

Fudge chuckled nervously. “I'm aware, Chief Witch. But considering the sensitivity of the case, I found it prudent to act.”

“Tread carefully, minister. I have half a mind to declare a mistrial based on this alone. You better hope that the rest of this trial goes exactly by the book.” She warned. “And for the defence?”

Minerva's gaze remained fixed intently on the trio of children, her eyes drinking in every detail of their fragile, traumatized faces. Her attention was so utterly consumed by their plight that she failed to notice the subtle shift in Albus's posture, the quiet lean forward that bespoke his own intense interest in the proceedings.

It was not until her eyes wandered upwards, drawn by some faint, peripheral movement, that she became aware of the figure emerging from the visitor's gallery. Her heart leapt with a sudden, uncontainable joy, its rhythmic pounding accelerating to a feverish pace as she drank in the sight of the man's familiar face.

For the first time since that morning's anxious, troubled dawn, Minerva felt her frazzled nerves begin to settle, her very being suffused with a deep, abiding sense of calm. Her eyes followed the man's progress, tracing the fluid, confident lines of his movements as he descended to the floor.

There, he came to a halt beside the children, his tall, imposing frame looming protectively over their fragile, wounded forms. And then, in a gesture that was at once both elegant and deeply theatrical, the man bowed deeply, his movements a perfect, fluid echo of the dramatic flair that had once made him and his compatriots a legend within the halls of Hogwarts.

“Sirius Orion Black, Marauder extraordinaire, Lord of House Black, for the defence.”

Around him, the room exploded.

The island fort stood resolute, its rugged silhouette etched against the turbulent sky like a masterpiece of charcoal and shadow. The waves, a deep, foreboding grey, churned and foamed as they clashed against the unyielding rocks that encircled the island, their relentless pounding a testament to the fury of the storm.

And yet, despite the tempest's evident ferocity, it seemed to be strangely, almost eerily, contained. The turbulent air appeared to be trapped within an invisible, impenetrable sphere, a bubble of chaos that encompassed the island, yet remained curiously, almost artificially, bounded.

A lone, diminutive figure stood poised at the edge of a windswept cliff, her gaze fixed intently on the distant, foreboding silhouette of Azkaban. Her eyes, an unsettling, fiery red, burned with an unyielding intensity, even as the strengthening gusts whipped her dark hair into a frenzy. She stood unmoving, unflinching, her slender frame a testament to her unyielding resolve.

"Is that it, Tom?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the rising wind.

"Yes, my darling. That is Azkaban."

The girl's voice trembled, her words laced with a faint, almost imperceptible quaver. "Are you sure about this, Tom? I'm scared."

The response was a low, soothing murmur, a gentle, reassuring cadence that seemed to wash over the girl like a calming balm. "Don't worry, child. I gave you my word that you won't come to harm, didn't I? Have I not been faithful so far?"

The girl's gaze never wavered, her eyes fixed intently on some point beyond the horizon. "Sorry. It's just... Are you sure your friend is innocent?"

The response came as a low, confident chuckle, a sound that seemed to vibrate with a deep, abiding amusement. "Oh, yes. Not to worry, darling. Just let me take over. I promise, you won't even remember this by the time we're done."

The girl's nod was a resolute, almost fierce gesture, her jaw set in a determined line. "Okay. Are you sure you'll be okay? I don't want anything to happen to you."

The voice replied in a low, reassuring whisper, a soft, soothing melody that seemed to envelop the girl in a warm, protective embrace. "I'll be fine, child."

A moment later, the girl turned on her heels, her movements swift, almost fluid. And then, in the blink of an eye, she vanished, her departure marked by a loud, sharp crack that seemed to shatter the air itself.