The atmosphere inside Malfoy Manor had not been this peaceful in months.
For the first time since Lord Voldemort's return, the ancient estate felt like a home rather than occupied territory. The oppressive tension that had lingered over every room was finally beginning to fade. Dinner no longer carried the risk of an unexpected summons. People no longer jumped at every sound echoing through the corridors. More importantly, the screams that had occasionally drifted through the manor late at night had vanished completely.
Voldemort was gone.
At least for now.
Lucius Malfoy sat comfortably in his private study, a glass of expensive wine resting in his hand as he stared into the flames dancing within the fireplace. Across from him, Narcissa occupied a comfortable armchair, her posture noticeably more relaxed than it had been in months.
The difference was subtle, but Lucius noticed it immediately.
The permanent tension around her eyes had softened. The constant worry she carried whenever the Dark Lord resided beneath their roof seemed lighter.
For the first time in a long while, she looked as though she could breathe.
"He is really gone," Narcissa said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.
Lucius allowed himself a small smile.
"For now."
That alone felt like a blessing.
Following the disastrous ambush against the Order of the Phoenix and the increasing attention surrounding Wiltshire, Voldemort had decided that Malfoy Manor was no longer suitable as his primary headquarters. Reports suggested that members of the Order had begun investigating estates connected to known Death Eaters. Several supporters had already vanished.
More troubling still, the Order was changing.
The deaths suffered during the recent ambush had affected them deeply. Five dead in a single operation. Numerous wounded. Such losses rarely left people unchanged.
Lucius had lived through the first war. He knew exactly what happened when grief transformed into desperation.
Desperate people became dangerous.
And Voldemort, for all his arrogance, understood danger when he saw it.
As a result, he had relocated his headquarters to Avery Manor, a heavily warded estate belonging to one of the oldest pure-blood families in Britain. The property was isolated, defensible, and far removed from the growing scrutiny surrounding Malfoy Manor.
Lucius had not objected.
In truth, he had privately encouraged the decision.
The less frequently Voldemort visited his home, the happier he became.
Several counties away, however, Avery Manor possessed a very different atmosphere.
Where Malfoy Manor had begun recovering its sense of normalcy, Avery Manor seemed to embrace darkness. The ancient estate loomed beneath gray winter skies like something carved from a nightmare. Narrow corridors twisted through old stone walls. The portraits decorating those walls watched visitors with suspicious eyes. Even the servants moved quietly, as though afraid to disturb something sleeping beneath the foundations.
At the center of the manor, Voldemort sat before a roaring fireplace.
Unlike Lucius Malfoy, the Dark Lord was in an excellent mood.
His red eyes reflected the flames as he leaned comfortably within a high-backed chair. The recent days had been unexpectedly satisfying.
The spy within his organization had finally been exposed.
Captured.
Interrogated.
Broken.
Executed.
The memory still pleased him.
The traitor had resisted for longer than most. Hours had stretched into days as he stubbornly clung to his secrets. But in Voldemort's experience, everyone broke eventually.
Everyone.
Pain had a remarkable ability to reveal truth.
Because of that truth, the trap had been laid.
And the Order had walked directly into it.
Exactly as planned.
The results exceeded even his expectations.
A reminder that the Order of the Phoenix was not hunting him.
He was hunting them.
A faint smile appeared on Voldemort's face.
The first war had taught Britain to fear him.
The second would teach them despair.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Enter."
The door opened immediately. A masked Death Eater stepped inside and bowed deeply.
"My Lord."
"What is it?"
The man approached and presented a folded paper.
"News from Hogwarts."
That instantly captured Voldemort's attention.
Hogwarts meant Rose Potter.
And Rose Potter had become a persistent irritation.
The Dark Lord accepted the paper and unfolded it slowly. His eyes moved across the article, scanning the details with practiced efficiency.
The European Under-Seventeen Dueling Championship.
Selection trials.
Expected participants.
Then his gaze stopped.
Rose Potter.
For several moments, Voldemort simply stared at the words.
Then he leaned back slowly.
A cold smile spread across his face.
Now that was interesting.
Because unlike assassinations, kidnappings, or ambushes, this offered something far more valuable.
Officially sanctioned duels.
No investigations.
No outrage.
No accusations.
And accidents happened during competition.
The thought lingered in his mind as he reread the article. The championship represented an opportunity unlike any he had seen in months. Direct attacks against Rose Potter had repeatedly failed. The graveyard. Countless carefully arranged plans that somehow slipped through his fingers.
Perhaps brute force was no longer the correct approach. Perhaps subtlety would accomplish what violence had not. As he considered the possibilities, another thought surfaced.
The Avery family.
More specifically, Lord Avery's eldest son.
A student at Durmstrang.
An exceptionally talented duelist.
Eager to prove himself.
And perhaps most importantly, young enough to be influenced.
Voldemort rose from his chair.
The Death Eater immediately lowered his head further.
"My Lord?"
"Summon Lord Avery."
The command was calm.
"Immediately."
The Death Eater departed without hesitation.
Several minutes later, Lord Avery entered the room and bowed deeply before the Dark Lord.
"My Lord."
Voldemort gestured toward the paper resting on the nearby table.
"Your son."
Avery looked momentarily surprised.
"What about him, my Lord?"
"He participates in the European circuit, does he not?"
A trace of pride appeared on Avery's face.
"Yes, my Lord. He is among Durmstrang's strongest duelists."
For several moments, silence filled the room as the Dark Lord stared into the fire. To Avery, it appeared as though Voldemort had become distracted.
In reality, he was calculating.
Planning.
Finally, he spoke.
"Bring him to me as soon as you can, claim family emergency or something."
Avery blinked.
"My Lord?"
"I wish to meet him."
The words sounded harmless.
But Avery was not a fool.
Nobody spent time in Lord Voldemort's company without being changed.
The Dark Lord's red eyes reflected the dancing firelight.
Rose Potter had escaped him repeatedly, may be it was time to approach the problem differently.
Perhaps the answer was not hidden within secret battles and dark rituals but beneath the bright lights of a dueling arena.
After all, champions earned admiration.
Victories earned attention.
And rivalries often became intensely personal.
As the fire crackled softly within Avery Manor, Lord Voldemort began planning for the tournament.
And, far away at Hogwarts, Rose Potter remained completely unaware that she had just become the center of a new game.
The first sign that something was wrong came during breakfast.
Helios normally paid very little attention to what happened around him while eating. Students gossiped constantly, owls arrived carrying letters from home, and arguments between rival houses erupted almost every morning. After spending years navigating politics, conspiracies, and war, listening to first-years argue about Quidditch teams felt painfully unimportant.
Yet one detail immediately caught his attention.
Rose's seat was empty.
His eyes drifted toward the Gryffindor table. The spot beside Hermione remained noticeably vacant. There was no messy red hair, no animated conversation, and no Rose enthusiastically discussing dueling strategies with whoever happened to be sitting nearby.
Helios frowned slightly but quickly returned to his breakfast.
One missed meal meant very little. Rose occasionally overslept after late-night training sessions. Sometimes Professor McGonagall dragged her away for school-related matters before breakfast. Other times she disappeared into the library for hours without warning.
It wasn't unusual.
Then first lesson came and went.
Rose never appeared.
That earned a little more of Helios's attention.
Then the second lesson arrived.
Her seat remained empty.
Rose skipping two consecutive classes was unusual. Ever since becoming obsessed with improving her dueling skills, she had become almost fanatical about attending lessons. She hated falling behind academically, especially when Hermione inevitably reminded her about missed assignments.
By the time the second period ended, Helios had already decided something was wrong.
Students poured into the corridor as the classroom emptied. Helios spotted Hermione immediately and intercepted her before she could disappear into the crowd.
"Hermione."
She looked up from her books and offered a small smile.
"Oh, Helios."
"Where's Rose?"
The smile vanished almost instantly.
"I don't know."
That answer caught him off guard.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
Hermione adjusted her grip on her books and frowned. "Professor McGonagall came for her this morning before breakfast."
"And?"
"She took Rose away."
"Where?"
Hermione shook her head.
"She didn't say."
Helios stared at her.
For the first time, genuine concern appeared on Hermione's face.
If anyone would normally be informed, it would be Hermione. Rose told her nearly everything. Even professors occasionally informed Hermione when Rose would be absent because they knew she would ask anyway.
Before Helios could respond, Neville joined them in the corridor.
"Any news?"
Helios shook his head.
"No."
Ron appeared a moment later, carrying enough food to feed a small army.
"Maybe she's getting personal training from Dumbledoree" he suggested around a mouthful of pastry.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
All three of them looked at Helios.
"You sound awfully certain."
"Because if it was training, Rose would have told at least one of you beforehand."
Hermione slowly nodded.
Whatever was happening, it wasn't something ordinary. More importantly, it wasn't something Rose had chosen herself.
Without another word, Helios turned around.
"Where are you going?" Neville asked.
"McGonagall."
A few minutes later, he stood outside the Head of Gryffindor House's office.
After receiving permission to enter, Helios stepped inside and found Professor McGonagall sitting behind her desk grading essays. She looked up over the rim of her spectacles.
"Mr. Black."
"Professor."
"What can I do for you?"
Helios didn't bother sitting.
"Where is Rose?"
McGonagall's expression became guarded immediately.
"Miss Potter is dealing with a family emergency."
The answer came too quickly.
Helios studied her carefully.
"What family emergency?"
"That is not information I can disclose."
"Professor."
His tone remained polite, but there was an edge beneath it.
"Rose's only family is Sirius Black, my father."
For the briefest moment, McGonagall's quill paused.
The movement lasted less than a second.
Helios still noticed it.
"And I know she didn't go to Privet Drive."
McGonagall lowered her eyes to the parchment in front of her.
"Mr. Black."
"What?"
"This matter does not concern you."
Helios immediately understood two things.
First, she knew exactly where Rose was.
Second, she wasn't permitted to tell him.
That narrowed the possibilities significantly.
Order business.
Or Ministry business.
Neither option made him particularly happy.
After another minute, it became obvious McGonagall would reveal nothing further. Helios thanked her politely and left the office, though his thoughts were racing by the time he reached the corridor.
He immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out an enchanted mirror.
The silver surface shimmered before resolving into the familiar face of Sirius Black.
"Helios?"
"Rose is missing."
Sirius sat up immediately.
"What happened?"
Helios quickly explained everything—the empty seat at breakfast, the missed classes, Hermione's concerns, and McGonagall's suspicious explanation.
Sirius listened carefully without interrupting.
When Helios finished, silence followed.
Then Sirius frowned.
"I don't think she's with the Dursleys."
"I know."
"And she's definitely not here."
Sirius leaned back and began thinking.
Several long moments passed.
Then suddenly his eyes widened.
"Oh."
Helios immediately straightened.
"What?"
Sirius muttered a particularly creative Black family curse.
"The prophecy."
Helios froze.
The Department of Mysteries.
The Hall of Prophecy.
Thousands of glass spheres resting upon endless shelves.
The prophecy.
The prophecy Dumbledore had repeatedly refused to retrieve.
The prophecy the Order kept sacrificing people to protect.
The prophecy only Rose could safely remove.
Helios closed his eyes.
"How did I forget that?".
There had been too many distractions recently. Umbridge. The Defense Club. The upcoming Dueling Championship. Sirius's legal battle with the Ministry. Every new crisis pushed the prophecy further into the background.
Meanwhile, it had remained exactly where it always had.
"It has to be that," Helios said.
Sirius nodded.
"It makes sense. Dumbledore probably finally agreed."
"They escorted her to the Ministry."
"Most likely."
"Moody?"
"Let's hope they get it done quickly."
Helios wasn't nearly as optimistic.
Because history had taught him one very important lesson.
Whenever the Order of the Phoenix attempted something simple, it inevitably became complicated.
And the Department of Mysteries was exactly the sort of place where simple plans went horribly wrong.
The mirror connection faded a few moments later, leaving Helios standing alone in the corridor.
For several seconds he stared out one of Hogwarts' windows toward the distant mountains.
An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach.
And if there was one thing Helios had learned throughout his life, it was this:
Whenever prophecy became involved, nothing ever remained simple for long.
Author's Note:
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