Deep within the chilling fortress, in a dim, sealed room.
Candles burned quietly, their flames suppressed by an icy, piercing cold, reduced to mere flickers the size of soybeans, wavering as if on the verge of extinguishing. Melted wax dripped along the copper candelabrum, casting the shadow of a cloaked figure slowly approaching.
In the narrow cell, Bellatrix Lestrange sat with her head bowed, arms wrapped around her knees, curled up, muttering dreamlike whispers.
"He'll come back, he will… and when he does, you'll all die."
The Dementor's form was blurred, its cloak like a thin veil of black gauze, its face indistinct, revealing no discernible features.
It leaned closer to Bellatrix, its chest expanding, neck tilting back slightly, accompanied by a faint sniffing sound as it inhaled.
Bellatrix's pupils shrank to pinpricks, her body stiffening, movements frozen. A choked sob escaped her throat, as if her soul were being forcibly ripped from her body.
Something indescribable was drawn from her soul, transforming into wisps of silvery-white mist that seeped from her mouth and nose, consumed by the Dementor.
"Ugh… ha…"
Her breaths came in short, hoarse gasps, indistinguishable between excruciating pain or total unconsciousness.
Cold sweat poured from her pores, sliding down her pale forehead, washing away the grime and dust, making her gaunt bones stand out against her parchment-white skin.
At first, she tried to resist, clawing wildly at the air, her nails occasionally scraping the walls and floor, producing a chilling rasp. But soon, her body began to relax, twitching faintly before collapsing limply to the ground.
Bellatrix's eyes grew vacant, her expression blank, leaving only an empty shell in the cell.
"Behave! Don't kill the prisoner!"
An Auror outside barked, shooing the Dementor away. He bent to check Bellatrix's condition, confirmed she was alive, and tossed a piece of chocolate toward the unconscious witch.
The cell door slammed shut, the lock clicking into place.
The icy mist thinned, and the candle flames flickered stronger, their orange glow warming the room slightly, casting faint shadows.
A rat's silhouette appeared on the stone wall, swaying with the candlelight. In a blink, the rat transformed into a short, stout wizard, tiptoeing toward the unconscious witch.
Looking at Bellatrix's wretched state, Peter felt only relief. Thank Merlin he'd faked his death, framed Sirius, and counted on Sirius being foolish enough to take the fall.
"Mrs. Lestrange? Mrs. Lestrange?"
Peter called out in a high, squeaky voice.
The disheveled witch lay motionless, her pupils still dilated, utterly unresponsive.
"Bellatrix, Bellatrix?"
A faint flicker stirred in her eyes, her clouded consciousness seeming to coalesce.
Peter exhaled in relief. Now was the moment—this mad witch was defenseless and couldn't cry out.
He unscrewed a glass vial hanging from his neck, carefully pried open her mouth, and dripped two drops of colorless, odorless potion. Pointing his wand at her chest, he whispered:
"Rennervate!"
Bellatrix's pupils remained dilated, her gaze unfocused, her face slack.
Peter crouched before her, watching her expression but avoiding her eyes. "Can you hear me?"
Her eyelids twitched, and she answered in a low, emotionless tone, "I… can hear."
"Good, good…" Peter's excitement trembled through him as he took a deep breath. "Now tell me, where's the key to your Gringotts vault hidden? How do I open it?"
In a flat, detached voice, she replied, "Lestrange Manor, second-floor cabinet key… or my wand."
"Perfect! Perfect!"
He'd secured the information the professor needed. He could leave Azkaban!
Peter's body shook with excitement. "Just use Animagus form to slip past the Apparition wards, contact the professor with the Dark Mark… and I'll be free!"
He pocketed the open vial, wiped away his footprints in the cell, and prepared to flee, eager to begin a challenging but hopeful escape. As he was about to transform back into a rat, he glanced at Bellatrix and paused.
"The potion's still active. No sense wasting it…"
Looking at her, Peter's mind flashed with old memories. After a long moment, he asked shakily, "Twelve years ago, on Halloween Eve, what happened?"
"The Dark Lord went to Godric's Hollow alone. He knew the Potters' hideout. For some reason, he didn't want us with him. He went to kill the Potters… then lost contact."
"Volde…"
Peter couldn't say the name. He took another deep breath, a murky glint in his eyes. "The Dark Lord… is he dead?"
Bellatrix's eyelids twitched, her face lighting up with reverence. "No, he can't die! He's immortal! The greatest dark magic ensured his survival long ago. He's proven his boundless power!"
"Will he return?" Peter's voice was strained.
Her smile widened, lost in her grandest fantasy. "Of course! One day, he'll rise again, wipe out his enemies, and punish all who betrayed him!"
A deep chill gripped Peter, and he fled the room in panic.
…
In another cell deep within the fortress, the dim room was lit by wavering candlelight.
Sirius Black slumped helplessly against the wall, his back pressed to the freezing stone, facing a soul-chilling Dementor. Despair permeated the cramped space.
The creature's face was hidden beneath its hood, its body cloaked, only its grayish, shriveled hands visible, like a corpse rotted underwater.
The Dementor loomed closer, its face still obscured, drawing a long, trembling breath through its hooded mouth.
A frigid wave washed over Sirius, his breath freezing in his lungs. The cold pierced his skin, coursing through his veins, as if he were submerged in the deep sea.
His eyes rolled back, showing cloudy whites, his ears filled with the sound of rushing waves. Long-buried memories surged up, flashing like a carousel.
Moonlight spilled overhead. The Forbidden Forest and castle lay dark, free of teachers, students, or nagging parents. Only the knot on the Whomping Willow, the creaky furniture in the Shrieking Shack, and four animals in the attic, leaping from the window, running freely through the woods until dawn.
"Wormtail, Moony, Padfoot…"
Those carefree, joyful memories surfaced, only to become fodder for the Dementor.
The images froze on a rat. Icy dread spread, sealing the memory. Sharp pain stabbed his heart, his body convulsing uncontrollably.
Sirius snapped awake for a few seconds, staring blankly at the monster, but his body wouldn't move. He could only lie back, breathing in the freezing air.
As his consciousness blurred, so did his vision. In the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the Auror at the door and, faintly, a rat with a missing toe scurrying past.
"Wormtail…"
…
Remus Lupin was a gifted wizard, showing magical talent from a young age, fascinated by pixies, Boggarts, and other curious creatures. His father, Lyall Lupin, an expert in the field, worked at the Ministry. Though not highly regarded, his salary comfortably supported their family of three. His mother, Hope Howell, a Muggle, was gentle and patient.
A perfect family, a privileged life—Remus' early childhood was blissful.
That lasted until the eve of his fifth birthday.
His father's accusation against the werewolf Greyback at the Ministry earned the werewolf's grudge. One quiet night, Greyback forced open Remus' bedroom window and attacked him as he slept.
From then on, Remus was a werewolf.
The Lupins moved from town to village, village to village, but keen wizarding neighbors always noticed the boy's peculiar frailty around the full moon. To hide his condition, the Lupins were cautious, fleeing at the first rumor of oddity.
This nomadic life shaped Remus' personality. To avoid slip-ups, he couldn't play with other children, staying indoors, growing withdrawn and silent.
On the eve of his eleventh birthday, an unexpected visitor arrived. Even years later, Remus vividly recalled Dumbledore sitting by the fireplace, eating scones and playing Gobstones, the foul, sticky liquid spraying onto the scones like rancid jam.
"I see no reason Remus shouldn't attend school. I've arranged a safe place for his transformations, and the professors will assist…"
Dumbledore had said.
At Hogwarts, Remus faced hardships and prejudice but made friends and graduated successfully.
Then came the First Wizarding War.
Voldemort's fall was cause for celebration for most, but Remus couldn't smile. The day the war ended, he lost all his friends.
With his closest companions gone, former allies returning to their families, and his mother deceased, Remus didn't want to disrupt his father's quiet retirement. He embarked on a solitary journey.
To avoid detection of his full-moon illness, Remus couldn't stay anywhere long, taking odd jobs to scrape by.
At dusk in Yorkshire, Remus hurried along a path, clutching a paper bag. The thawing snow made the air biting, the wind like a cold blade against his skin.
The bag held a week's dinners: a few loaves of black bread, a discounted jar of near-expired jam, and a tin of fish.
Such luxury was rare. The fish was a treat—he'd worked three jobs today and cleaned owl droppings for the shopkeeper, earning an extra three Sickles.
At the door of his rented shack, Remus exhaled warm breaths, one hand holding the bag, the other fishing for keys. As he prepared to unlock the door, his neighbor opened a window. A bearded, bald wizard poked his head out, shouting:
"Remus, Remus, come over for a drink! We saved up for a Mirror of Shadows, and Lisa's cooked a pot of beef!"
"No thanks, I've got an early start tomorrow!" Remus replied with an apologetic smile.
The wizard, a local, lived with his witch wife. Their Squib child attended a Muggle school, learning to navigate Muggle society. For middle-aged wizards without Muggle IDs or education, earning Muggle money under the Secrecy Law was tough.
They weren't well-off either.
Remus glanced at the sky, his eyes dimming. There was a bigger reason: tonight was the full moon.
"Alright," the bald wizard sighed, sensing his reluctance and not pressing further.
Remus resumed unlocking his door, hearing the Mirror's broadcast from the neighbor's house.
Daily Prophet News: "The Anti-Werewolf Bill, drafted by Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge, has been officially enacted. The regulations, now in effect, include the following:
1. Employment Restrictions: The bill prohibits werewolves from holding positions in the Ministry or other key institutions. Wizarding businesses and shops must verify employees' werewolf status, barring them from certain professions…
2. Mandatory Registration and Monitoring: All werewolves must register with the Ministry, providing their identity, address, and transformation cycle. Neighbors and relatives must submit statements of awareness.
3. Restrictions on Residence and Movement: Werewolves are banned from living in Diagon Alley, Godric's Hollow, Thexton, or Hogsmeade, and near Hogwarts or St. Mungo's. For public safety, they must isolate at designated locations during the full moon.
4. Harsher Criminal Penalties: Werewolf offenders face stricter punishments. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement may detain those deemed potential threats preventively."
Remus froze, stepped inside, and gently kicked the door shut.
The wind, snow, and voices were all locked outside.
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