Under the night sky, the lights in the deep alleyway were dim, with only a few ancient candles flickering weakly. The melted wax dripped down the holders, releasing the foul smell of cheap tallow. Carried by the evening breeze, the candlelight danced, and the shadows seemed to hide countless watchful eyes.
Lying on a narrow cot, Frank and Alice looked up, their expressions somewhat vacant.
Although some lucidity had returned, their memories of the past were gone. Waking up to a witch they didn't know left them both completely bewildered.
"Are you going to talk now?" the cold-faced witch demanded in a low voice.
"Talk about what?"
"Where the Dark Lord is!"
The witch's voice suddenly grew shrill, her tone rising sharply with a mix of cruelty and impatience. "You are Dumbledore's pets, you must know His location! Don't play games with me! Tell me where he is, or you will suffer agony beyond your wildest nightmares!"
Frank and Alice lay stunned on the bed:
"I don't know who the Dark Lord is!"
"We don't know where he is!"
"Very well, very well..." A sneer flashed across Bellatrix's gaunt face before it hardened into a vicious glare. "I think you've slept too long and forgotten the taste of torment. Let me think, let me think...
"First, we'll carve 'Blood Traitor' into your wrists, leaving the scar to brand you forever, and then we'll use the Cruciatus Curse to give you pain you'll never forget in this life!"
Bellatrix Lestrange's face became twisted. Her time in Azkaban had left her thin, and the combination of torture and the passing years had ravaged her mind and appearance, leaving only a shell as distorted as her soul.
"Scars... the Cruciatus Curse..."
"Oh, wait, I forgot—the Cruciatus might not be enough for you. How about a Dementor's Kiss?"
Her words were like a spell, and an unsettling chill immediately descended. The couple flinched, afraid to meet her eyes, and involuntarily glanced behind the witch, as if they could truly see the tall, cloaked figures gathering in the shadows.
A wave of coldness pierced their skin, chilling them to the bone and spreading through their blood to the deepest parts of their minds. Their eyes rolled back, and they felt as though they were drowning in an icy lake. Their ears were filled with a surging rush, the sound of rushing water, and their thoughts spun downward.
A scream echoed from a distance, starting as a choked moan and slowly turning into a terrifying wail. The sound was horribly familiar, as if it was coming from their own throats.
"Now, are you ready to talk?"
Frank and Alice felt themselves surfacing. They opened their eyes wide, but could only make out a blurred shadow. Their dull gaze seemed veiled by a gray mist.
In their daze, they had a strange feeling, a sense of familiarity, as if they had lived through this same scene before.
The one-year-old child was staring blankly, gripping the rail of his crib.
The morning sunlight slanted into the room, covering the carpet in a golden swath. Faint sounds of fireworks could be heard outside.
Only two days ago, the sky was overcast and grim, but with Voldemort's disappearance and the Death Eaters' collapse, the cold fog and dark clouds caused by the concentration of Dementors had gradually lifted, revealing the original blue sky. As the news spread on the Wizarding Wireless Network, thousands of witches and wizards poured out of their locked-down basements to parade and celebrate, feeling as if they had come back to life.
A male wizard's smooth London accent came through the radio's news broadcast:
"Ministry of Magic Aurors are rounding up wizards suspected of misusing the Dark Arts..."
"The Ministry is holding non-stop trials, supervised by the Chief Mugwump, Albus Dumbledore..."
"A memorial for Harry Potter has now been erected in Godric's Hollow..."
The locked bedroom door clicked open, and a young couple of Aurors walked in.
The wizard, Frank, had slightly prominent brow bones, even features, and a firm jaw, showing the composure gained from long physical training and a life of constant alertness. The witch, Alice, had flowing dark-brown hair and a determined gaze, wearing practical trousers and sturdy boots—the typical Auror style.
When their eyes fell on young Neville, their battle-hardened and well-trained expressions softened.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. Let Mummy hold you... Mmm, you're heavier again."
"Oh, my little Neville. Your Gran tells me you showed your magic again yesterday, summoning your toy from the basket right onto your bed."
Frank reached out to poke his cheek, but pulled his hand back just before touching him, rubbing it on his sweater. After wiping off the damp cold from his overnight mission, he finally tickled Neville's nose.
As the heir to the Longbottom family, Neville had inherited the talents of his Auror parents. Even before learning to speak or walk, he was already showing magical talent, surely destined to become a powerful wizard.
"How was the mission? Do you get to rest today?" Alice looked up and asked.
"I'm afraid not. I have to see Dumbledore at nine. We'll meet at the Ministry later."
"Is he sending you to Albania?"
"There are signs that You-Know-Who might be hiding out over there. I have to go check it out."
"Don't forget me when it comes to catching Dark Wizards. Augusta will be here soon. Neville will be with his Gran, and I'll come find you right away."
"See you later..."
Frank kissed his wife and son on the forehead. The coat he put on still had a slight damp chill clinging to it. He waved and his broad, strong shoulders walked away into the morning light.
It was just like every other time he left for work.
He Disapparated across space alone. One moment he was in West Yorkshire, and the next he appeared in Bourne Wood. The November forest in Bourne Wood was particularly cold, and the temperature change made Frank feel uneasy. A subtle sense of foreboding lingered in his heart.
He needed to finish this mission quickly so he could make it back for the celebration party at the Leaky Cauldron.
He straightened his robes, tucked his wand away, and began searching the forest for the Portkey.
He walked through the grass-covered woods. Time passed, and the agreed-upon activation time for the Portkey was getting closer, yet there was no sign of it. Frank began to mentally grumble about the Department of Magical Transportation.
"Where is the blasted old boot, anyway?"
As if in response to his muttering, a rustling sound came from behind a tree. The Auror's intuition immediately sounded an alarm. Without a second thought, Frank whipped out his wand and cast a Disarming Charm.
The jet of light struck an old, hard tree, scattering tiny sparks.
Frank looked around and saw the black-robed Death Eaters appear: Rodolphus and Rabastan, the two Lestrange brothers, the infamous Bellatrix, and one inconceivably familiar face.
"Barty Crouch Junior..."
Frank's heart sank completely. He gave up on the idea of escaping and began to consider how he could leave behind information to warn his colleagues.
The bedroom door was shut, and the window was half-open, letting the sunlight stream in and bathe them in a faint warmth.
Neville was sleeping peacefully in his nursery crib. Alice sat on the nearby sofa, holding the Daily Prophet, while the radio played continuously, delivering nothing but encouraging news.
"Good news from the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement: Sirius Black has been captured and will be sent immediately to Azkaban without trial, as specially authorized by Mr. Crouch."
"Listeners, please note: some of the followers of the Dark Lord are still at large. Please remain vigilant."
"... "
A letter, folded into a butterfly, flew in through the window.
It wasn't a standard letter, but a rough piece of parchment folded over. There was no envelope, no owl—the address was written on the outside, and the writer had used powerful magic to send it. This wasn't the usual way to communicate, suggesting extreme urgency.
Alice took the letter, a dreadful premonition welling up inside her:
> Alice,
>
> Frank missed the assembly this morning. Aurors have initiated a search and rescue operation. Stay home and be cautious.
>
> — Dumbledore.
Alice stared at the few short sentences for a long time. She read it over and over, her heartbeat speeding up, louder than the radio.
"Missed... missing... search and rescue..." For Dumbledore to send a note like this, the situation must be grave.
Voldemort was gone, and the Death Eaters were nearly dissolved. Frank must have run into some stubborn Dark Wizards, or perhaps the Portkey landed in the wrong place... Alice turned off the radio and paced back and forth, trying to collect her thoughts.
On her fifteenth circuit of the room, she heard the click of the lock turning in the front door. Alice's head snapped up, and she instinctively waved her wand, sealing the door shut.
The person trying to push the door was stopped. After a brief pause, they tapped three times and whispered, "Alice, it's me, Augusta."
"Thank Merlin... Alohomora." Alice breathed a sigh of relief.
"What is it? Why was the door locked?" The door opened, and the elderly witch, wearing a valuable fox-fur coat, walked in with a frown. Despite her age and the silver strands in her hair, she had a formidable energy about her.
Alice didn't speak and simply handed over the note.
After a quick glance, Augusta gasped, "Missing?"
"Yes. You watch Neville. I have to go look for him in Bourne Wood."
"No, Dumbledore told you to—"
"He is my husband, Augusta!"
"He is my son!"
"And now I am going to bring back your son, my husband, and my son's father! Even Dumbledore himself has no right to stop me!"
"..."
Augusta stood frozen, looking into Alice's light brown eyes. After a long silence, she said, "You... you're right."
Alice turned and lightly kissed her sleeping child's cheek, softly murmuring, "Be brave, little wizard," then put on her coat and headed out. At the garden gate, she looked back at the grandmother and grandson.
Pop.
With a slight shudder in the air, the witch Disapparated into the West Yorkshire sunlight.
Bourne Wood.
The outer edges of the forest had been sealed off. The Auror team, led by Mad-Eye Moody, was conducting a systematic sweep. The situation was grim: they had found the Portkey, and the old boot had not been activated.
Deep inside the forest, far from the Auror search party, a determined figure was searching inch by inch, refusing to miss any clue.
Only by moving could Alice stop the terrible thoughts from flooding her mind. She would not give up on her husband. Just as she had said on her way out, she would bring back her son's father.
"Frank! Frank!"
Alice firmly believed in the mysterious connection she shared with her husband, a link no one else could know. With the blessing of luck, she hoped to find Frank before any harm came to him.
Alice reached the deepest part of the forest, trying to spot a different color among the dead leaves and branches—perhaps Frank's sweater—but there wasn't a single bright flower in the winter wood.
Found it!
A flash of crimson appeared in Alice's vision: the scarf Frank had worn that morning. She hurried over to check it. A wizard was lying on the ground nearby, seemingly unconscious, wearing the exact same clothes as Frank.
Alice immediately rushed closer, wanting to see the face of the unconscious man and wake him up.
The wizard suddenly sat up, a strange smile on his face. It was a completely different face from Frank's, and Alice saw pure malice in his eyes.
Evening, Abandoned Tunnel.
This was a disused underground tunnel system on the outskirts of London, long abandoned and deserted. Alice wasn't sure of her exact location, only a rough idea, and she had left behind special, invisible marks along the way. If Mad-Eye's eye found her capture spot, he would be able to see the marks and follow the trail.
Alice had never been here. Now, she quietly studied her surroundings, committing the sharp turns of the tunnels to memory.
Dreadful Death Eaters, rats in a gutter, only hiding in places like this!
Alice cursed silently. She was being led through the winding underground passages, surrounded by thirteen Dark Wizards. None of them spoke to the captured Auror. As soon as she was brought to the tunnel entrance, a different group of Death Eaters took over, seemingly deferring to higher command.
Then, Alice was led deeper underground and heard several familiar voices, including Frank's.
"If the Cruciatus Curse can't unlock your tongue, I truly don't know what will," a sharp, grating female voice pressed. "Now, tell me! Where is he? Where is the Dark Lord?"
"I don't know." It was Frank's voice, weak and drained.
"Don't play dumb. You're Dumbledore's stooge. You must know where he is!"
"The answer is..." Frank seemed to chuckle slightly, deliberately slowing his words. "You'll get nothing from me."
The witch laughed, angered. "Well, that is truly unfortunate. I hadn't intended to drag dear Alice into this, but I suppose I have no choice."
"No! Leave Alice out of this!"
Frank, who had been steadfastly silent, let out a voice filled with such terror, as if his wife's presence was a pain harder to bear than the Cruciatus Curse itself.
The Death Eaters shoved her forward. Stumbling a few steps, Alice was pushed around the corner, finally seeing Bellatrix's face, but she quickly looked away to focus on her husband lying on the ground.
Frank's lips trembled. Before the couple could speak, a blinding red light engulfed them both.
"CRUCIO!"
It felt as though countless high-voltage currents surged through their bodies instantly. Their bodies arched violently, spines twisting into unnatural bows, and they involuntarily clung to one another. What began as a low moan quickly turned into a heart-wrenching shriek. Tears and sweat poured out uncontrollably, sticking the couple together.
Time stretched slowly in the agony. Every second was drawn out. After who knows how long the torment lasted, they curled up on the ground, gasping weakly.
"Now, are you ready to talk?"
"..."
Frank and Alice met each other's eyes. Their expressions were similar, as if they had reached a quiet, shared resolution. Their pupils showed a look of profound sorrow, and tears spilled silently from their eyes.