The metallic screech of the goblin carts echoed menacingly through the cavernous expanse of their vault-city. Flowing water intermittently broke this deluge of noise, spraying the riders with the minerally rich slosh of liquids. Many carts were sprayed in such a way, lingering enchantments and magics washing away any ill-begotten curses or spells that might fester upon the inhabitant's clothes or bodies. This was a fortunate feature as one such cart held the scarfed form of one Quirinus Quirrell...
Said man, dressed in a mixture of purples and dark greens, hissed in pain as the protections once present over his master's lingering possession faded. Torturous agony soon followed, his master obviously displeased with his foolishness; though no words or mental communications told him as such. He did not need to hear his master to know of his displeasure however.
As he grasped his temples with his hands, leaning forwards on his knees, the goblin at the front of his cart pressed an emergency button. Said goblin bared his fang-like teeth in a rictus of derision as he cautiously grasped a sword that had been previously bound beneath his seat. Quirrell whispered his pleas to his master like a man obsessed, his eyes darted around to the steel flooring beneath his feet. A distinct, sharp, pull of metal upon metal made him flinch upwards, just in time to watch as Goblin Steel swiftly descended towards his neck.
"-Foool you havve let themmm find ussssss!-" Quirrell had the urge to call for mercy but soon was shunted to the back of his consciousness whilst his master took the reigns of his body.
What were once purple eyes now flashed an ominous blood-red, the irises narrowing around the slitted pupils. Skin once an auburn-white mix now became as ashen and white as paper scrubbed with charcoal. Magic flared like a geyser from the pours of Quirrell's body as a dark hiss spat from the flickering tongue that vibrated with potent arcana.
The blade, now close enough to possibly draw blood, froze at the edge of his neck. Goblin Steel crumpled inwards, scrunching with the power of an incalculable force, as the magic once contained in the darkest of rituals unleashed itself in this moment. Goblin and possessed' eyes met at that moment, the magical creature shivering at the venomous and hate filled glare of this entity sitting before him.
"-It issss of noooo differenccceee... We are clossse enough...-"
A sickening crunch shuddered through the air, the remaining pulp of a goblin scattering onto the water-logged cavern walls as the cart slowly continued its journey towards their singular mission.
Within hours of that event the aurors would find only the slightest of evidence that a Goblin had been murdered during this break-in. It was only through the use of a unique charm that allowed someone to find the recently dead that they uncovered the long since desiccated heart of the globin clerk.
...
Quirrell watched as the numerous students of Hogwarts slowly broke away from the feast, his purple eyes drinking in the sight of his master's slayer.
He looked too scrawny... Too powerless... It was impossible that he defeated his lord when he was but a babe. As he had suspected the entire story of the boy-who-lived was a tall tale. A story to manipulate the masses into hating his lord, to defy the purebloods' power! It was an abomination to all that was sacred, in his opinion, and needed to be stopped.
'-Calm Quirrell, the boyyyy will die by my handssss. All weee need is the sssstone!-'
'I will hand it to you on a platter master, as soon as I can.'
'-Goood...-'
Quirrell rolled his eyes into the back of his head as the relief of his own magic flaring into him bathed his body in endorphins. For a long time all he could feel was the, frigid... No... Awesome magic of his master... His own magic was orgasmic in a way, though if he were to state that now he would be tossed directly into the icy depths of his master's influence yet again. He couldn't allow that! No, he didn't want to stay there for long at all.
...
Grindelwald stood at the small window that the ICW hit-wizards had allowed him to have, his body as tall and prideful as ever. His white hair, billowing now to a long main that reached towards his lower back, wafted in the wind as he observed the snowy wonderland that was Nuremburg's environs.
Aches and pains leaked into his body every now and then as the snow softly poured from the sky. The coldness was a balm in a way, a balm to his injured soul and furthermore, to his wounded pride. Memories of distant moments with his family hung within his opalescent eyes, like the grim reaper before someone died.
No tears fell to his face, no emotion could be seen etched into his mask. There was only the cold contemplation of betrayal, pain and future prospects. He knew his daughter and son had recently been released from his magics. It wouldn't seem to be a sorrowful revelation to him, but it was, on the inside his soul was weeping for the death of his wife and the loss of his children. While they were not dead, he could no longer play a role in their life, not while he was here... Not while his closest allies thought he was dead, whatever number of them remained alive at this stage.
All he could do was watch time pass by as he tried to stimulate his seer ability in order to capture a glimpse of his most prised loved ones. He stood there, for several hours, before the guard outside his cell deposited his daily soup.
"Here you go dark peasant, hope you enjoy your slop." The hissing German words seared themselves into his ears as he slowly turned to witness the greatest of travesties befall him once more inside this room.
A king brought so low as to be fed food for cattle and pigs... He ignored the slop and watched the outside world for half an hour more, his magic sating his hunger whilst he contemplated whether he should degrade himself to eating their offered 'food'.
...
Horror-filled screams rebounded off of the charcoal stones of Azkaban whilst dim white lights sometimes sprung up in the middle of hallways. Dread and agony were a delicacy of this sombre spire of darkness, expanding from the depths of the North Atlantic. Wardens of both a human persuasion and that of an abomination upon existence roamed the walkways and halls of this prison.
Many levels were filled with the mundane criminals of Wizarding Britain, their crimes petty and inconsequential in many cases. Still they were subjected to the terrors of the dementors for their dalliances against the law. To suggest there were levels to crime within Britain was a travesty beyond the highest magnitude of a joke... Azkaban was the den, the hive, the spawning pool of nightmares and they made their presence known to all who enter their domain.
Dementors they were called, as if you could give a name to a nightmare and call it a dream. How could you name something so anathema to life after a human condition? You couldn't, was the short answer, but the longer answer was long forgotten and usually never thought about; lest someone who is not a criminal have a nightmare entirely separate to these ones.
No, these nightmares were real, alive, but not. They feed on the absence of happiness, the void that was left after someone had their mind stripped of happy memories. All of them were skilled in their 'art', if you could call it that, and all of them were sadistic in their pursuit of sating the hunger buried deep within their beings. The phrase 'soul for a soul' was not mere mythology... Bellatrix knew this... Knew it, very, well. For more than a decade she had been ensconced, entrapped, contained, within this festering hive of torture and dismay. That entire period of time wore on her soul and mind alike.
Replayed memories of her alter ego torturing the Longbottoms, of killing hundreds of Muggles and Magicals alike... Had snapped the ritualistic magic that once bound her soul to her once husband. Now all that remained was the hollow shell of a woman once called Bellatrix Black.
Moans and groans engorged the entire wing she was placed within. Their noise only comparable to the cackles of the maniac that she once had been. Those laughs haunted her every living breath. The memories were worse, but only slightly. She remembered every person she had killed and tortured... Her alter ego had even assisted Lucius Malfoy in raping several Muggleborn girls... If she weren't already so tainted by horrible visions and thoughts she probably would have vomited at the mere concept.
She squirmed against the wall within her cell, the dementor retreating from the room as her hollow black-purple eyes stared brokenly at its form. There was no hope for her here. There was no hope at all. She felt like crying but her body and mind was so dry of true emotion that it only ushered a small squeak of pain from her lungs.
The squeaks continued for a long time in that cell before she managed to once again turn into a small sparrow, her Animagus form granting her minor respite to the horrors of her past self she was paying for.
...
Several days later a newspaper slapped down into her cell, following a warm cup of spit and a bowl of barely cooked mush. The jailor quickly fled from the doorway of her cell, the man not even taking a second look at her, despite her past beauty.
An hour passed before she managed to crawl over to the newspaper, her eyes languidly drooping as she attempted to read the headline. Her eyes had gotten blurry over time and this fact made her want to sob again... She would likely never see things as she once did ever again.
|Grindelwald Family Makes A Return!!!|
The title was obviously nonsensical but she continued to read. It provided little detail but mentioned the fact that the heiress of the Grindelwald name served Dumbledore and the minister, whoever he was, their asses.
'"But, for this session, I would like to bring forth the singular most embarrassing and dangerous blunder that the Ministry of Magic has allowed to occur within modern history!"'
She tried to summon a smile at the quoted words of the Grindelwald girl, her mind swirling with possibilities... If only she could get out from under Azkaban and the influence of this nefarious ritual...
'"The supposed traitor of the Potter Family, the family of the BOY-WHO-LIVED, Sirius Arcturus Black... Has never received a proper trial and was in fact thrown in Azkaban, as the Lord of a Most Noble and Ancient House, without due process! As a vassal of the Most Ancient, Most Arcane, Most Mighty and Most Imperial family of LeFay-Emyrs-Grindelwald-Nightingale, I call for his immediate trial and an explanation from the current Magical Government of Britain as to why one of our family's closest allies, has been treated so unjustly!"'
Bellatrix eyes widened massively as she read, in fact, she was so stunned, that she reread the quote numerous times. Her mind, though turned to a hazy contemplation compared to her past intellect, churned away at the fact that she was her liege lord; technically, and could perhaps give her a proper trial.
She continued to read hungrily before stopping at the last quote of the article...
'"Shut up you useless slug. I am a LeFay and an Emyrs. My family is older than your cute Wizard Parliament and even older than the council that preceded it. We have forever been allowed access to Britain's services and allowed within its power structure, think very carefully of the power at my fingertips and just what it would mean for your administration."'
A giggle softly left her parched mouth as she considered freedom for the first time in a decade. Previously she could have left with her Animagus form but there was little point. Now? Well, she could go to someone who could give her a chance of cleansing the magic from her and thus clearing her name...
More laughter broke from her cell, the cackle that was attributed to her former persona never heard as the steely cough-like mirth of Bellatrix Black stood in its place. She had plans to make and by the end, she would go and meet this LeFay-Grindelwald-Nightingale-Emyrs for herself.
...
A week later she escaped her cell, stole a wand and placed Rabastan Lestrange in her place. A glamour was used to copy her appearance whilst an Imperious spell made him act like her... It was the one positive of having all of the memories of her former self... She was mightily good at the Dark Arts now.
That night Bellatrix Black was free from Azkaban and the wizarding world was going to be too busy searching for Rabastan Lestrange to look for her.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have a Patreon where you can get exclusive Discord roles, vote on Fan fiction decisions, and even suggest Extra Chapters for me to write. Join here: patreon.com/user?u=111976696.
If you'd like to further support my work, here's my PayPal: paypal.me/RBSMFF.
Feel free to join my Discord community here: https://discord.gg/wVZXpPpUQn.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------