The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year arrived on a crisp, bright Saturday in late January. For the third-year students, it was a momentous occasion, their first taste of freedom beyond the castle walls. With Sirius Black free, while Peter Pettigrew was still at large, the regulations were now freed slightly, in hopes of showing peaceful times. The permission slips had been signed, the warnings about Peter Pettigrew had been issued, and an excited buzz filled the air.
Ariana, Hermione, and Daphne decided to go together, leaving Tracey to join some of her other Slytherin friends. As the three of them walked down the path from the castle, they created an immediate stir. The student body had grown accustomed to seeing them together in the library or the Great Hall, but seeing them out in the world, dressed in stylish Muggle winter coats and scarves, was a different spectacle entirely.
Ariana, with her honey-blonde hair and serene, otherworldly grace; Hermione, her brunette curls bouncing, her face alight with a new, vibrant confidence; and Daphne, with her aristocratic poise and cool, blonde elegance. They were a study in contrasts, yet they moved together with a shared, unspoken understanding, their conversation a low, intelligent murmur. They were, as a flustered fourth-year boy whispered to his friends as they passed, "terrifyingly brilliant and brilliantly terrifying." The three most formidable witches of their generation, a powerhouse of brains, beauty, and burgeoning power, walking side-by-side.
They explored the village with a leisurely enjoyment. They visited Honeydukes, where Ariana analyzed the magical properties of Fizzing Whizbees with a clinical curiosity while Hermione and Daphne stocked up on Chocolate Frogs. They browsed the shelves of Tomes and Scrolls, and stopped for warm, butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, finding a quiet corner booth away from the boisterous crowd.
Their conversation was a seamless blend of the mundane and the profound. They discussed their Charms homework, the upcoming Quidditch season, and then, in hushed tones, the molecular structure of the Maledictus curse. It was a friendship that operated on multiple levels simultaneously, a bond that other students could only observe with a mixture of envy and awe.
One particular visit was the Hog's Head, where Ariana was expecting to find a person of interest for her. Unfortunately, she only found the inn being operated by a woman. Upon enquiry, the woman informed Ariana of an old man selling the place to her three something years ago. The man sold her the shop at a cheap price and left without any indication of where he was planning to leave. Ariana wondered about it, and also about whether to speak with Dumbledore or not.
They returned to the castle that evening, their arms full of sweets, feeling refreshed and relaxed, even though Ariana had several thoughts in her mind. The quiet, idyllic period of study and friendship, however, was about to be shattered.
A few days later, a wave of collective shock and terror swept through the wizarding world, delivered by the screeching owls of a special edition of the Daily Prophet. The front page was dominated by a single, terrifying moving photograph: the wild, maniacal face of a woman with lank black hair and heavy-lidded, crazed eyes.
BELLATRIX LESTRANGE ESCAPES AZKABAN!
NOTORIOUS DEATH EATER FREED BY TRAITOR PETTIGREW!
MINISTRY IN CRISIS! FUDGE VOWS 'IMMEDIATE AND OVERWHELMING RESPONSE'!
The article was scant on details, pieced together from panicked Ministry sources. Pettigrew, in his rat form, had somehow infiltrated the supposedly impenetrable fortress. He had located Bellatrix
Lestrange, Voldemort's most fervent and dangerously unhinged lieutenant, and had orchestrated her escape. How he had accomplished such a feat was a mystery, but the result was a nightmare. Two of the most dangerous fugitives in Britain were now at large, and one of them was a sadistically powerful witch utterly devoted to the return of her master.
The Ministry's response was swift and heavy-handed. The number of Dementors surrounding Hogwarts doubled, their presence a constant, soul-draining miasma that left the student body perpetually cold and miserable. Furthermore, two full-time Aurors were assigned to the castle itself. One was a tall, imposing black wizard with a deep, calming voice and a single gold earring: Kingsley Shacklebolt. The other was a young, bubbly Auror with spiky, bubble-gum pink hair that changed to a shocked violet when she tripped over the castle steps: Nymphadora Tonks.
For Ariana, this news was a critical, game-changing variable. The escape of Bellatrix Lestrange had just moved the Longbottom family from a personal project to a high-risk security situation.
She found Neville in the greenhouse, tending to a Venomous Tentacula with a newfound confidence. His face, when he saw her, was pale with a sick, familiar dread. He had seen the papers. He knew the woman who had destroyed his parents was free.
"Neville," Ariana said, her voice cutting straight to the point. "We need to act. Now."
"Act?" he whispered, his hands trembling slightly. "What can we do? She's… she's out there."
"Your parents are currently at St. Mungo's," Ariana stated, her logic cold and clear. "While secure, it is a known location. Bellatrix Lestrange is unstable, and her primary motivation is fanatical devotion to her master. It is a logical probability that she will seek to 'finish the job' she started, to eliminate the loose ends of the last war. Your parents are a prime target."
Neville's face went white.
"Therefore," Ariana continued, "they can no longer remain there. We need to move them to a secure, private location. Longbottom Manor is protected by ancient family wards, is it not?"
"Yes," Neville confirmed. "It's unplottable now, especially with Gran modifying the wards and even keeping several family members unaware of it."
"Then that is where they must go," Ariana declared. "But there is another matter. Your father."
She had been resting, allowing her magical core to replenish after the immense strain of healing Alice. It was not at full capacity, but it was strong again. Strong enough, she calculated, for one more profound act of will. She would not leave the job half-finished. She would not leave Neville's father in the dark while his wife was waiting for him.
"The risk of Lestrange finding them outweighs the risk of my own magical depletion," she said, more to herself than to Neville. "The timeline has been accelerated. We must complete the process."
She sent an urgent Patronus message—her brilliant Thunderbird soaring invisibly through the castle walls—to Professor Dumbledore, requesting an immediate emergency portkey to St.
Mungo's for herself and Neville, and for Augusta Longbottom to be summoned there at once.
Within the hour, they were standing once again in the Janus Thickey Ward. Augusta was already there, her face a grim, stony mask that couldn't quite hide her terror. Alice was sitting up in bed, looking stronger than before, but her eyes were wide with a remembered fear.
And in his chair sat Frank Longbottom, placid and unaware.
Ariana took a deep, steadying breath, gathering her power. This time, she knew the cost. She knew the drain it would take. But she also knew it was necessary.
She walked to Frank, placed her hand gently on his head, and closed her eyes. Once again, she delved into the shattered landscape of his mind. She found the screaming, chaotic knot of the Cruciatus memory, a psychic cancer that had consumed his consciousness for over a decade.
With a focused, silent application of her will, she drew her metaphysical scissors. She found the threads. And with a strength born of purpose and necessity, she cut him free.
Frank Longbottom shuddered, a violent tremor that shook his entire body. He blinked, his eyes clearing for the first time in twelve years. He looked at his wife, at his mother, at his tall, teenage son.
"Alice?" he whispered, his voice a disused rasp. He looked down at his own hands, then at Neville. "Neville? My God… what happened?"
Augusta let out a sob of pure, unadulterated joy. Neville rushed to his father's side, his own tears flowing freely. The Longbottom family, broken for so long, was finally, miraculously, whole again.
Ariana staggered back, the magical backlash hitting her like a physical blow. She leaned against the wall, a profound exhaustion settling deep in her bones. But her work was done.
"Madam Longbottom," she said, her voice quiet but firm, cutting through the emotional reunion. "They are vulnerable. You must take them home. Now. To the safety of your own wards. They cannot stay here another night."
Augusta turned to her, her face a mixture of fierce gratitude and grim determination. "It will be done, child," she said. "They will be safe. I swear it on the name of my House."
Ariana had done it. She had defied a dark lord, rewritten history, and now, she had mended the minds that one of his most powerful servants had broken. She had taken two of the most tragic pieces off the board and placed them securely in a fortress of their own. But she knew this was only the beginning. Bellatrix was free. Pettigrew was free. And Voldemort, somewhere in the dark forests of Albania, was waiting. The game was escalating, and she had just made herself a very, very powerful enemy.