Chapter IV: The Aftermath Begins

Bellatrix Black apparated into the empty corridor of Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a loud crack, as she stumbled into existence pain laced throughout her body. She walked towards the door swaying, barely keeping her upright. Her blood stained robes dragged along the floor.

She opened the door with shaking hands and walked in, her mother Druella Black looked at her frozen in shock. “Merlin's Beard, Bella” Druella called out and hurried towards her daughter. She supported her swaying daughter by gripping her shoulders and gently guided her towards the chaise lounge in the hall.

Druella began chanting healing spells, all daughters of house Black are well versed in both Dark arts and the Healing arts as Blacks seldom trust outsiders to heal them.

Bella straightened slightly as the pain subsided. At last, she could think clearly. She had been under a compulsion for over a month, her mind not truly her own. That fool Rodolphus had taken her to a madman who had the audacity to cast compulsion spells on her.

Her memories of the past month were hazy, fragmented. She recalled training a group of incompetent fools, leading them on a raid against a Muggle pub, only to be met by a green-eyed wizard who had fought fiercely to protect the Muggles. He had slaughtered every Death Eater present including Rodolphus.

The only one who had escaped with their life, apart from herself, was Rabastan Lestrange.

She did not care about Rodolphus. He was supposed to be courting her as her betrothed, instead he let her be controlled by a madman who fashioned himself a Dark Lord.

Bellatrix's thoughts returned to the present as she saw her father standing near her and looking at her intently, “Bellatrix, answer me!” Cygnus said. His expression is unreadable. Her uncle Orion was also looking at her intently. How long were they here?

She remained silent. What could she say? That she had been broken? That her mind had been warped and twisted into something unrecognizable? That a stranger, a man who should not exist, had shattered her chains with nothing but a hissed command?

Andromeda and Narcissa appeared moments later, their eyes widening in horror. Andromeda immediately moved nearby and knelt near her and grasped her hands gently. “Bella, what happened?” Andromeda asked with concern.

She did not respond to her either. Narcissa knelt on the other side, her soft blue eyes filled with concern. “Please sister, tell us.”

She wanted to answer, she truly did. Instead, she placed her head on her elder sister's shoulders and took comfort in the familiar presence of her two sisters.

For an hour, no one spoke. The only noise was the crackling of the fire in the hearth, until the sound of incoming floo connection and subsequent sound of heavy footsteps shattered the momentary peace.

The Black family patriarch, Arcturus Black entered the Hall. He had a formidable presence, his eyes were cold and was accessing the room as soon as he entered. He carried himself with a dignity that conveyed he’s someone who’s above all others. His gaze fell upon Bellatrix, taking in her broken form. “Leave us” he commanded in a strict voice.

Her parents hesitated for a moment, but fled the room with a single look from the patriarch. Her sisters have her reassuring squeezes and they too left the room.

Once they were alone, Arcturus moved closer. His gaze was kinder than she had ever seen him. “Tell me child,” he said softly “ What happened?”

Bellatrix hesitated for a few moments. “You are not weak child, Whatever happened, you survived it. I need to know if there is a threat to you or the family.” Aractus said.

Slowly she reached for her wand, with trembling fingers she placed her wand to her temple. She pulled shimmering silver strands of her memory free, collecting them in vials her grandfather produced from his robes.

Arcturus summoned the pensieve, placed the silver strands and let the silver mist swirl. He dipped his face in it. He watched in anger as the memory played. Bellatrix reluctantly letting Rodolphus courting her, being tricked into meeting Voldemort, being cursed with Cruciatus, being bound to the will of Voldemort by the insidious whisper of Parselmagic. Aractus' breath caught when he saw a strange wizard in muggle clothes cutting down nearly a dozen wizards with lethal precision, blasting Bellatrix away like a bug and looking at her with absolute fury until suddenly something changed. The look of fury in the stranger's face changed into a look of curiosity.

Arcturus realised the stranger started performing Legilimency on Bellatrix, the next few minutes both the stranger and Bellatrix stood there with their eyes locked. Then the stranger started whispering in Parseltongue unravelling the compulsion placed by the other Parselmouth and asked Bellatrix to leave.

Bellatrix saw her grandfather withdrawing from the pensieve, he remained silent for a long moment before he turned to face her, “You have endured much child. More than any should” He said, “I failed in my duty as the head of your family.”

Her eyes moistened, she bit her lip to stop herself from crying.

Arcturus placed the vial on the table beside her. “Rest child. We will speak more once you are fully healed.”

She nodded weakly, he reached out in a rare gesture of comfort, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. Then he left the room without another word.

Bellatrix laid back, her body aching but her mind more at ease than it had been in years. She started sleeping in moments. She dreamed of green eyes filled not with anger, but with something else, something she had never known, something she craved for a long time.

Love.

-----

Just as Bellatrix apparated away, six Aurors appeared, wands at the ready. Harry raised his hands slowly, still holding his wand but pointing it upward in the universal wizard's gesture of non-aggression.

"Drop the wand!" ordered one of the Aurors, a severe-looking man with a sharp jawline.

Harry carefully placed his wand on the ground. "They attacked the pub," he said calmly. "I defended myself and the Muggles."

Another younger Auror stepped forward. Harry recognized him with a jolt. Alastor Moody, decades before he would become "Mad-Eye." He had a complete nose and both eyes were intact.

"Eight dead," Moody growled, surveying the carnage. "All wearing Death Eater masks."

The first Auror - whose badge identified him as John Urquart scowled as he examined the body with the caved in chest. "This is Rodolphus Lestrange," he said in anger. "Heir to the Noble House of Lestrange."

"And the others?" Moody asked, still keeping a wary eye on Harry.

"Purebloods," Urquart replied. "Young ones too. Most of them belong to Noble families."

Urquart turned to Harry, his expression hardening. "You're under arrest for eight counts of murder," he declared.

"Murder?" Harry replied incredulously. "They attacked a pub full of Muggles! I defended innocent people!"

"Convenient that all your 'attackers' are dead and can't contradict your story," Urquart sneered.

"Not all of them," Moody interjected, examining a blood trail. "Looks like at least one got away. Maybe two."

"Besides," Harry added, "I'm willing to provide memory evidence for a Pensieve review."

Moody gave him an appraising look. "That's fair," he said, though Urquart looked displeased.

Harry carefully extracted the memory of the attack, leaving out only his recognition of Bellatrix and his use of Parseltongue to free her from the compulsion.

Moody accepted the silvery strand of memory and placed it in a small vial and asked "What's your name?"

"Harry Peverell."

Urquart snorted. "Peverell? That line died out centuries ago."

"Interesting that my family went extinct when I am still alive." Harry replied evenly

"We'll sort it out at the Ministry," Moody said. "You're coming with us, Mr. Peverell. Not under arrest yet, but we need a full statement."

Harry nodded, allowing Moody to place magic-dampening cuffs on his wrists. As the Aurors led him away, he took one last look at the devastated pub. One portion of the pub is completely destroyed. The barrier he conjured still held, the Muggles huddled behind it in terrified confusion. Obliviators would soon arrive to modify their memories.

One month into his mission to change the past, and Harry had already made a significant impact. Though not in the way he'd planned. He had already killed eight Death Eaters. One of them is a member of Voldemort's inner circle and he had freed Bellatrix from Voldemort's control. The ripples of these actions would spread, changing the future in ways he couldn't predict.

As he was side-along apparated to the Ministry holding cells, Harry wondered if he'd made things better or worse. Only time would tell.

-----

Arcturus Black stepped through the green flames and he emerged in the grand hall of Blackwood Manor. The high stone walls were adorned by the black family crest, the hall was lighted by flickering torches burning with bright white coloured flames, too white to be natural. He exhaled sharply, contemplating the effects of what he had seen in Bellatrix memories meant for the future of the Black family and Wizarding Britain.

The strange wizard dressed in muggle clothes, in a muggle pub, cut down eight trained wizards with an ease that spoke volumes about his experience and skill. His face seemed familiar, very familiar indeed. The unruly black hair, the face structure resembled the Potters. His resemblance to Fleamont Potter was unmistakable. But how could that be?

His musings about the identity of the strange wizard was interrupted by a sharp tapping at the window. A sleek, tawny owl sat at the ledge and kept tapping at the window glasses. He recognized the owl, it was from Hastings, one of his trusted inside men at the Ministry. Aractus retrieved the letter from the owl and opened the parchment.

Rodolphus Lestrange – deceased.

Cassius Mulciber – deceased.

Selene Perricour– deceased.

Octavian Yaxley – deceased.

Vesperia Lupin– deceased.

Lucian Carrow – deceased.

Regulus Rowle– deceased.

Seraphina Urwood– deceased.

Perpetrator: Harry Peverell. Currently in DMLE custody.

Arcturus' mind raced as he put together the pieces. The man who saved Bellatrix is a Peverell, he was a parseltongue too. He had heard about the Peverell’s. Once they were feared across the world, not just in Britain. Their line was supposed to be extinct. No wonder he was able to break the compulsions cast by the Dark Lord. His sources within the Ministry and the dark faction in the Wizengamort had already informed him of a budding dark lord, rumored to be more powerful than even Grindelwald. This is a mess.

He set the parchment down on his ornate wooden desk and rubbed his forehead. The betrothed of his granddaughter is dead, not a big loss though. The Lestrange heir was a snivelling, power hungry coward. He was more talk than substance. But the Lestrange family will not let this death go without reprisals, they have influence within the Ministry and they are also a part of the dark faction in the Wizengamot.

The Ministry will investigate this matter, if he’s truly connected to the Potters he should let his old friend Charlus know.

He moved to the fireplace and tossed a handful of Floo powder, “Eastwood Hall” he commanded. The flames turned emerald green and in a few moments the head of Charlus Potter appeared in the fire.

"Arcturus?" Charlus’s brows lifted in surprise. "Why are you calling at this late hour?"

"I need to speak with you. In person."

Charlus’s eyes narrowed, but he acquiesced. "I will be there shortly."

Thirty minutes later, Charlus Potter stepped through the floo. His robes immaculate, it was more sporty than the formal ones Arcturus wore.

"What is the urgency?" Charlus asked, with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Arcturus handed him the letter from. Charlus scanned through it, his expression tightening. "Harry Peverell? I don’t know the name."

Arcturus exhaled. "I believe you should, he bears an uncanny resemblance to your brother Fleamont."

Charlus looked up sharply. "That’s a dangerous assumption, Arcturus . You and I both know that family histories, especially ours, are not so easily unravelled."

Arcturus settled into a chair, looking intently at Charlus as he spoke. "I witnessed his actions through Bellatrix’s memories. He fought like a veteran, taking down eight fully trained wizards with ease, including Rodolphus Lestrange. One more thing, he is a Parselmouth and he undid a dark magical compulsion that even I would struggle to counter."

Charlus frowned, deep in thought. "Parseltongue? There are few who possess that gift outside of Slytherin’s line. And you say he fought like a war veteran?"

"Not just fought. He slaughtered his opponents."

Charlus set the letter down and leaned back, rubbing his chin. "And now he’s in the Ministry’s hands. That could be either a blessing or a curse."

Arcturus nodded grimly. "And there’s something else to consider. I believe we may be dealing with another Dark Lord. And this time, he’s in Britain."

Charlus’s gaze snapped to him, the air between them thick with unspoken memories. Decades ago, they had fought a war in the shadows, leading a covert squadron of British wizards against Grindelwald’s forces, battling in secret while the world believed Britain stayed neutral. They had buried comrades, made decisions that haunted them, and ultimately, played a hand in securing victory. But victory had not come without its costs.

"Another Dark Lord," Charlus murmured. "And this time, it’s on our shores."

Arcturus inclined his head. "Bellatrix was taken to Voldemort, this is how he calls himself. No one knows his true name. He crucioed her, broke her mind, and used Parselmagic to place a powerful compulsion spell on her. If not for Harry Peverell, she would have been lost to us."

Charlus let out a slow breath. "Then this Voldemort is more dangerous than the usual fanatics."

"And neither is the one who broke his curse," Arcturus added. "We need to learn more about him. His past, his abilities. If the Ministry decides he’s a threat rather than an ally, we might need to act."

Charlus nodded and said "I’ll reach out to my brother, if this Peverell is connected to our family, we’ll find out, if he’s as powerful as you say, we may need him more than he needs us."

Arcturus stood, smoothing the front of his robes. "Then we have work to do. If a Dark Lord is truly rising, then Britain is not ready for what’s coming."

Charlus smirked, "Just like old times, then."

Arcturus allowed a rare smile. "Just like old times, my friend."

-----

Lord Voldemort sat upon a grand, throne-like chair in the vast hall of Nerviern Manor. The scent of old decaying wood was lingering, The old owner a feeble, childless widower who had the audacity to resist him. The man was the last of his line, and with a mere flick of his wand, Voldemort ended the Bloodline. It was neither the first time nor it will be the last time he ends an entire bloodline.

Voldemort tapped his fingers in the armrest of his large throne-like chair, he was deep in thought. The Manor was large enough for now. More than a hundred of his followers will be staying here at any given time. The Manor comes with a portion lab and a healer's suite, it will come in handy when he openly moves against the Ministry.

The enormous doors of the hall opened, Rabastan Lestrange staggered inside, his face drenched in sweat and blood. His robes were singed and partially torn revealing angry burns across his chest. He moved forward with agony and knelt before him with great difficulty.

Voldemort did not speak. He simply tilted his head, with no expression on his face he said “Look at me,” Rabastan looked at him with fear and pain evident in his face. Voldemort entered his mind, not gently but not as hard as he would like to.

He saw the attack unfold from Rabastan’s prespective, the Death Eaters entering a Muggle pub with silver masks and wands drawn, The first spell broke the confused looks and caused chaos and panic. But then, something changed. A single man had cast a shield, protecting the muggles. Unsettling green eyes and unkempt black hair, his wand work flawless, eight of his followers were put down by the wizard with ruthless efficiency. It was unlike any wizards he had seen in Britain, not even in Continental Europe.

He saw the wizard killing eight of his death eaters and facing Bellatrix while Rabastan apparated away. Voldemort withdrew from Rabastan’s mind, his red eyes narrow. The hall was silent. No one dared to utter a word.

This man, whoever he was, is dangerous.

Voldemort’s eyes flicked to the kneeling death eater, who was panting from exhaustion and pain. "Tend to him," he ordered one of his followers, a former Medi-witch who had sworn herself to his cause.

The healer bowed and moved forward to assist Rabastan, who was too weakened to react beyond a grateful exhale. Normally, such failure would have been punished severely, Voldemort would have made an example of Rabastan for returning in such a pitiful state. But not today. None of his followers are a match for this wizard. It would be meaningless to punish a fox for being outclassed by a tiger.

Voldemort leaned back into his throne. Who was this wizard? Can this wizard be swayed, he would definitely be a powerful asset. A worthy lieutenant. If not he will have to die. His death will be slow and painful, a lesson on the consequences of defying the Dark Lord.

"Find out everything you can about this wizard," he ordered.

From the darkness of the hall, a silver masked figure bowed and vanished silently unnoticed by the other inhabitants.