Chapter 175: The Ravagers
Deep in the cold Fortress, in a dim, enclosed room.
Candles burned quietly, the candle flames suppressed by a bone-chilling cold, leaving only a faint glow the size of a soybean, flickering as if about to extinguish at any moment. Melted wax dripped along the copper candlestick, illuminating the figure cloaked in a cloak, slowly approaching.
In the narrow cell, Bellatrix hung her head low, arms wrapped around her knees, curled up, murmuring in a dreamlike whisper.
“He will come back, he certainly will… and when he does, you’ll all die.”
The Dementor’s figure was somewhat blurred, its cloak like a thin black veil, face indistinct, no facial features discernible.
It leaned close to Bellatrix, chest expanding, neck tilting back slightly, and with a light sniffing motion, a sucking sound emanated from its throat area.
Bellatrix’s pupils shrank to pinpricks, her body suddenly stiffened, movements frozen, a choking sob escaping her throat, as if her soul was being brutally torn from her body.
Something inexpressible from her soul was drawn out, turning into wisps of silvery-white mist that overflowed from her mouth and nose, absorbed by the Dementor.
“Ugh… ha…”
She let out intermittent, rapid gasps, her voice hoarse, impossible to tell if she was enduring intense pain or had completely lost consciousness.
Cold sweat oozed from her pores, trickling down her pale forehead, washing away surface grime and dust, making her cheekbones even more prominent, revealing the pale skin beneath like bleached parchment.
At first, she still tried to struggle, clawing wildly at the air, nails occasionally scraping against the walls and floor, producing an eerie rustling sound. Soon after, her body began to relax, twitching a few times with diminishing amplitude, finally collapsing limply to the ground.
Bellatrix’s gaze gradually became vacant, her expression blank, leaving only an empty shell in the cell.
“Settle down! Don’t kill the prisoner!”
The Auror standing outside the door scolded, shooing the Dementor away. He bent down to check Bellatrix’s condition, confirmed she was still alive, then tossed a piece of chocolate to the unconscious witch.
The cell door closed again, the lock clicking shut.
The icy mist gradually thinned, the candle flames flickering and growing slightly brighter. The orange glow warmed the room a bit, casting shadowy outlines.
A rat’s shadow was cast on the rock wall, swaying with the candlelight. In the blink of an eye, the rat transformed into a short, fat wizard, creeping stealthily toward the unconscious witch.
Seeing the witch’s wretched state on the ground, Peter felt only relief—thank goodness he had thought of faking his death to escape, thank goodness he had framed Sirius, thank goodness Sirius was such a fool.
“Mrs. Lestrange, Mrs. Lestrange?”
Peter pinched his voice, calling out in a shrill, high-pitched tone.
The disheveled witch lay collapsed on the ground, her pupils still dilated and unfocused, completely unconscious.
“Bellatrix, Bellatrix?”
A flicker appeared in the witch’s eyes, her hazy consciousness seemingly gathering.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief—this was the moment; the mad witch had no strength to resist or cry out loudly.
He unscrewed the glass bottle hanging from his neck, carefully pried open her mouth, and dripped two drops of the colorless, odorless transparent potion, then pointed his wand at her chest:
【Rennervate】
Bellatrix’s pupils remained dilated, gaze vacant, cheeks slack.
Peter crouched in front of her, watching her expression but avoiding her eyes: “Can you hear me?”
The witch’s eyelids fluttered a few times, and she answered softly: “I… I can hear you.”
“Good, good…” Peter was somewhat delighted, taking a deep trembling breath. “Now tell me, where is the key to your Gringotts underground vault hidden? How do you open it?”
The witch replied in an emotionless, cold tone: “Lestrange Manor, key in the second-floor cabinet… or my wand.”
“Excellent! Excellent!”
Having smoothly obtained the intelligence that professor needed, he could leave Azkaban immediately!
Peter trembled with excitement: “Just use Animagus form to escape the Apparition ward, contact that professor with the Ouroboros Mark… and I’ll be free from now on!”
He pocketed the uncorked glass potion bottle, erased his footprints in the cell, and prepared to leave full of joy, embarking on a difficult but promising escape. Just as Peter was about to transform back into a rat, he glanced at the witch lying on the ground and paused.
“The potion’s still active—might as well not waste it…”
Peter glanced at Bellatrix, crouched down, memories flashing through his mind. After much thought, he asked tremulously: “What exactly happened on the Halloween night 12 years ago?”
“The Dark Lord went alone to Godric’s Hollow. He learned of the Potters’ safe house. For some reason, he didn’t want to take us along and pursued the Potters alone, then lost contact.”
“Voldem…”
Peter still couldn’t bring himself to say the name, taking another deep breath, a cryptic glint in his eyes. “The Dark Lord—did he die?”
Bellatrix’s eyelids trembled, a reverent expression on her face: “No, he won’t die, he can’t die! The great Dark Magic long ago took measures against death; he’s more powerful than any wizard, he proved his boundless magic!”
“Will he come back?” Peter opened his mouth, voice hoarse.
The smile on Bellatrix’s face deepened, as if fantasizing her fondest dream: “Of course! One day he’ll return, wiping out all who oppose him, punishing all who betray him!”
“…”
Peter felt a deep chill, fleeing the room in panic.
…
In a cell deep in the Fortress, the dim room was lit by flickering candlelight.
Sirius Black slumped powerless against the wall, back against the icy rock, a soul-freezing Dementor before him, despair spreading through the narrow room.
That thing’s face was completely hidden under the hood, body shrouded in the cloak, only its two hands exposed—ghastly pale with gray, shriveled skin hanging off the bones like a waterlogged corpse.
The Dementor hunched over him, face still indistinct. From inside the hood, its mouth and nose drew a long, slow, quivering breath.
Sirius felt a chill sweep over his body, breath freezing in his lungs. The cold pierced his skin, coursing through his blood, as if he’d been plunged into the deep sea.
His eyes rolled up, showing cloudy whites, ears filled with roaring waves. Distant memories surged from the depths of his mind, flashing like a galloping montage.
Moonlight spilled overhead; the Forbidden Forest and Castle were pitch black, no teachers or students, no annoying parents—just the Whomping Willow’s knot, old furniture in the Screaming Shed, four animals in the attic leaping out the window, running free through the mountain forest until dawn.
“Snitch, Moonface, Bigfoot…”
Those cherished memories resurfaced, the carefree joy with them, becoming fodder for the Dementor.
The scene froze on a rat, icy cold spreading, the memory sealed in frost, sharp icicles stabbing his heart, intense pain causing uncontrollable spasms.
Sirius came to for a few seconds, staring blankly at the monster before him, but unable to move, lying face-up, breathing the freezing air.
In his blurred consciousness, his vision blurred too. In his peripheral sight, he vaguely saw the Auror at the door, and behind the Auror, a one-fingered rat scurrying past.
“Wormtail…”
…
Remus Lupin was a highly talented wizard, showing magical talent from a young age, interested in Poltergeists, Boggarts, and other odd creatures. Coincidentally, his father was an authority in the field, his future bright.
Father Lyall Lupin worked at the Ministry of Magic, though undervalued, the salary was ample to support a family of three. Mother Hope Howell was a Muggle, but gentle and kind, very patient.
A perfect family, privileged environment—his early childhood was very happy.
Such days lasted until the eve of his fifth birthday.
Because father Lyall identified werewolf Greyback at the Ministry of Magic, he earned the werewolf’s grudge. One quiet night, Greyback forced open the bedroom window and attacked the sleeping Remus.
From then on, Remus was a full-fledged werewolf.
The Lupin family moved from town to village, village to village, but perceptive wizards could still sense the new neighbors’ oddity—the little boy always looked especially haggard around the new moon. To hide his werewolf identity, the Lupins were very cautious, leaving immediately upon hearing strange rumors about the boy.
The nomadic life greatly impacted Remus’s personality. Fearing he’d let slip, he couldn’t play with other children, staying home, gradually becoming reclusive and silent.
On the eve of his eleventh birthday, an unexpected visitor arrived. Though many years had passed, Remus still remembered Headmaster Dumbledore sitting by the fireplace, eating scones and playing Gobstones with him, the disgusting sticky liquid spraying on the scones like rancid jam.
“I believe Remus has no reason not to attend school. I’ve arranged a safe place for his transformation, and the professors will help…”
Dumbledore said this.
At Hogwarts School, Remus endured much hardship and criticism but made a few friends and graduated successfully.
Then came the First Wizarding War.
Voldemort’s fall was cause for celebration for others, but Remus couldn’t smile—on the day the war ended, he lost all his friends.
Losing his closest comrades, former wartime allies returned to family life, mother passed away. Though father was willing to take him in, Remus didn’t want to disturb his father’s peaceful retirement, setting off alone on his wandering path.
Remus had to leave before neighbors or colleagues noticed his full moon illness pattern, unable to stay long anywhere, taking only meager temporary jobs to get by.
Dusk in Yorkshire.
Remus hurried along the path clutching a paper bag. In the melting snow, the outdoor wind cut like cold knives.
Inside were dinners for the week: several black breads, a half-price near-expiry jar of jam, and a can of fish.
Normally he wouldn’t splurge like this; the canned fish was his reward. Today he took three jobs, and after work helped the shopkeeper clean owl droppings, earning an extra 3 silver Sickles.
Stopping at the door of his rented hut, Remus huffed warm breaths, one hand holding the paper bag, the other fumbling for the key. Just as he was about to open the door, he saw the neighbor push open the window—a bearded bald wizard poked his head out, shouting:
“Remus, Remus, come over for a drink! We saved up for a Projection Mirror, Liza stewed a pot of beef!”
“No thanks, I have to get up early tomorrow!” Remus gave an apologetic smile.
This wizard was a longtime resident; both he and his wife were wizards, but they had a Muggle-born child sent to Muggle school to adapt to Muggle society. For middle-aged wizards without Muggle identity or qualifications, earning Muggle money under the《 Secrecy Law》 restrictions was very difficult.
Their family wasn’t well-off either.
Remus glanced at the sky, eyes forlorn—actually, there was a more important reason: tonight was the full moon.
“Alright.”
The bald wizard sighed, seemingly sensing his difficulty, and didn’t press.
Remus lowered his head to unlock the door, hearing the Projection Mirror broadcast from next door.
Prophet News: “The《 Anti-Werewolf Bill》 drafted by Senior Deputy Minister Dolores Umbridge has officially been enacted, with relevant provisions now in effect, mainly including the following aspects—
“One, restricting employment opportunities. The bill prohibits werewolves from holding any positions in the Ministry of Magic or other key institutions. Wizarding businesses and shops must verify employees’ werewolf status, prohibiting werewolves from the following professions…
“Two, mandatory registration and monitoring. The bill requires all werewolves to register with the Ministry of Magic, recording true identity, address, and transformation cycle. Neighbors and relatives must provide awareness statements.
“Three, restricting residence and freedom of movement. The bill explicitly states werewolves may not reside in Diagon Alley, Godric’s Hollow, Theo’s Fort, Hogsmeade, or other wizarding communities, nor near Hogwarts School or St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. For public safety, werewolves must go to designated locations for isolation during full moons.”
“Four, harsher criminal penalties. The bill states that werewolves committing any crime will face severer punishment. For werewolves posing potential threats, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has the right to preemptive detention.”
“…”
Remus paused, entered the house, and gently kicked the door shut with his foot.
Shutting out the wind, snow, and sounds.
