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Chapter 703: Spinner’s End, Bellatrix’s Mistake
🕑 Added 2025-04-17 11:01:46 +0000 UTCAs the head of the Ministry of Magic, Fudge had made a decision, and Scrimgeour, despite his reluctance, had no choice but to comply.
Especially after receiving one-fifth of the donation, Scrimgeour’s stance softened, and he tacitly approved Fudge’s suggestion that Lupin should try it.
When Sirius walked out of the Ministry of Magic, an extra piece of parchment was already in his hand.
“I can’t believe it. The problem that’s plagued Remus for decades was solved so easily?” Sirius said, carefully tucking the parchment away. “I have to thank you for this, Kyle, on Remus’s behalf.”
“I didn’t donate the 5,000 Galleons,” Kyle replied. “And it wasn’t easy at all. Not everyone can casually come up with that kind of money.”
“Besides, Lupin’s identity played a significant role in this.”
“Lupin’s identity...” Sirius repeated, a little puzzled. “A member of the Order of the Phoenix?”
Beyond that, he couldn’t think of any other remarkable identity Lupin might have.
“Sort of,” Kyle said. “Dumbledore trusted him enough to not only allow him to attend Hogwarts despite everything but later made him a professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. That trust was the main reason Fudge and Scrimgeour agreed."
“If Dumbledore hadn’t set that precedent, the Ministry of Magic would never have allowed a werewolf to become an Auror—not even for a donation of fifty thousand Galleons, let alone five thousand.”
“Come on... fifty thousand Galleons?” Sirius sounded incredulous. That amount would be a fortune, even for the wealthiest pure-blood families.
“The situation is different now,” Kyle explained. “The werewolves have made it clear they’ll join the Death Eaters. If word got out that the Ministry allowed a werewolf to join the Aurors, Fudge would be ousted by an enraged wizarding community the next day, and Scrimgeour would be gone with him.”
“What about Remus?”
“He’s different. Like I said, Professor Dumbledore already paved the way.” Kyle’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Even if people find out, Fudge can easily diffuse their anger by saying: ‘He was a professor at Hogwarts and was trusted by Dumbledore.’”
“Is that so?” Sirius muttered, nodding slowly. He didn’t fully understand, but it sounded reasonable.
In any case, Lupin could finally step into the sunlight, as he had when his name was cleared. There would still be wary looks, of course, but Sirius believed that with Lupin’s character, he would earn people’s respect over time.
At Hogwarts, Lupin had already achieved that. When he resigned and left the school, at least a hundred students had sent him letters and Christmas gifts.
That Lupin had not only spent all his savings in return but also borrowed a considerable sum from Sirius—that was unimportant.
“I have to hurry back and tell Remus the good news,” Sirius said eagerly. “What about you? Are you coming with me?”
“No,” Kyle shook his head. “We’ve already wasted enough time. I need to head over to Cedric’s. He’s probably already waiting impatiently.”
“Is it still about the Dementors?” Sirius asked.
“Mm.” Kyle nodded.
“I already donated, didn’t I? The reward for the Dementors should be announced soon. You don’t need to rush.”
“The reward is just to speed things up. It doesn’t replace what I need to do.”
“Alright then,” Sirius said, though his expression grew serious. “Just be careful, and if you notice anything wrong, don’t hesitate to run.”
“Don’t worry, I know,” Kyle assured him.
The two parted ways.
Kyle returned to St. Catchpole Village, where he found Cedric pacing anxiously in front of his house.
“You’re finally back! I’ve been waiting for you all morning...”
“Sorry, I got held up,” Kyle said, trailing off as he noticed Cedric wasn’t alone.
Standing beside him was a House-elf dressed like a rock star, complete with sunglasses and leather.
Kyle could only think of one House-elf who dressed so flamboyantly...
“Tata?” Kyle said in surprise. “Why are you here?”
“The master told me to come,” Tata replied, walking over.
“Nicolas?” Kyle scratched his head.
Indeed, the Tata standing before him was Nicolas Flamel’s House-elf. Yet there was one thing Kyle couldn’t quite understand.
“I only asked Nicolas how to use that thing. He could’ve written it down on a piece of parchment—why did you have to come all the way from Devon?”
“My master said...” Tata cleared his throat theatrically and began in a perfect imitation of Nicolas’s voice, “This is truly unexpected. I’ve been alive for over six hundred years, and I’ve never heard of anyone using the Fiendfyre Curse against a Dementor. No normal wizard would do that...”
Tata’s mimicry was spot-on, but the more Kyle listened, the more uneasy he felt.
What does he mean by ‘no normal wizard would do that’? Is he saying I’m not normal? Kyle wondered.
And now that he thought about it, there’d never been any recorded cases of a Dementor turning against its master either.
It’s a shame Nicolas isn’t here to explain, Kyle thought, because Tata, being a House-elf, can’t answer questions like these.
Kyle pondered for a moment before pulling out a small bottle filled with black granules.
“So, Nicolas doesn’t know what this stuff is for either?”
“Yes,” Tata confirmed, “but my master is very interested, which is why I’ve been asked to bring some back.”
“You can take it all,” Kyle said casually, uncorking the bottle and preparing to hand it over. But after a moment’s hesitation, he poured out only half of its contents into another container.
It wasn’t that he was reluctant to part with it—it was useless to him anyway, and giving all of it to Nicolas wouldn’t have mattered.
The real reason was that an idea had struck Kyle. If things as peculiar as mouse spleens and leech juice could be used in potion-making, then perhaps Dementor residue could as well.
He decided to keep the remaining half to give to Director Sykes at St. Mungo’s.
...
After Tata left, Kyle and Cedric resumed their search for any traces of Dementors.
Meanwhile, many miles away, in a place shrouded in an oppressive gray mist that never lifted, even at midday, the atmosphere was bleak and foreboding. A dirty river meandered through the mist, its banks overrun with weeds and strewn with piles of rubbish. A towering, dilapidated chimney loomed above the desolate scene, adding to the eerie desolation.
In the midst of this dreariness, a woman appeared out of thin air. Or rather, two women did, one right after the other, both materializing with the use of magic.
“Cissy, listen to me!” the second woman cried, catching up to the first and trying to grab her arm.
But the first woman, Narcissa, shook her off. “Go back, Bellatrix.”
“You have to listen to me, Cissy. You can’t trust him.”
“Why not? Even the Dark Lord trusts him!” Narcissa retorted, continuing to walk forward without turning back.
“The Dark Lord must be... mistaken,” Bellatrix insisted, desperation creeping into her voice. “Stop, Narcissa! He may have already betrayed us. Even if he hasn’t, revealing our plans to anyone would be a betrayal of the Dark Lord!”
“Fine, then denounce me,” Narcissa said sharply. “Let the Dark Lord punish me. The Cruciatus Curse? The Killing Curse? I don’t care!”
Her voice was rising, becoming more shrill and hysterical. “I’m telling you, I don’t care about anything right now!”
Narcissa whipped out her wand and slashed it through the air. Bellatrix, who had just managed to grab her arm again, recoiled as if she’d been stung.
“Narcissa, how could you do this to your own sister?”
“There’s nothing I won’t do now—for Draco...” Narcissa’s voice cracked as she stared at her sister in disbelief. Then, without another word, she turned and walked deeper into the maze of abandoned brick houses lining the riverside.
Bellatrix had no choice but to follow, her expression a mix of frustration and resignation.
As they passed a faded sign, the words Spinner’s End could just barely be made out beneath the grime.
At last, Narcissa stopped in front of the last house on the alleyway. To Bellatrix’s evident displeasure, she knocked on the door.
With a creak, the door opened, revealing a pale, sallow face framed by lank black hair and a pair of cold, dark eyes.
“Narcissa? What a pleasant surprise...” Severus Snape said, his tone calm but carrying a trace of sarcasm.
“Severus,” Narcissa began nervously, “may I speak to you? It’s urgent.”
“Of course.”
Snape stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. Bellatrix, however, pushed past both of them to step inside first.
Snape’s lips twisted into a faintly mocking smile, but he made no comment, closing the door behind them.
The three entered a small, shabby living room dimly lit by a single candle dangling from the ceiling. The sparse furniture consisted of a worn, lumpy sofa, an ancient armchair, and a wobbly table. It was clear the house hadn’t been lived in for some time—dust coated every surface, and the room carried the strong stench of decay, like rotting straw.
Narcissa instinctively covered her nose but quickly dropped her hand, realizing it might seem impolite. Bellatrix, however, showed no such restraint.
“Snape, how long has it been since you last lived here?” she asked disdainfully, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
“I thought someone like you would have grown accustomed to the conditions in Azkaban,” Snape replied coolly as he poured water into two chipped glasses and set them on the table before them. “Surely it’s far worse there.”
Bellatrix’s face flushed with anger. “I went to Azkaban for the Dark Lord,” she snapped coldly. “It was far better than skulking here in this filthy dump.”
“Is that so?” Snape’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “As far as I’m aware, you lost something of great importance to the Dark Lord—something very valuable. And because of that, he’s treating you far less kindly these days.”
Bellatrix’s expression darkened further.
"Someone stole it from my vault! It was Gringotts’ incompetence, not mine!” Bellatrix spat furiously.
“What a coincidence,” Snape replied, elongating the word as if savoring its taste. “While you were in Azkaban, someone stole the Lestrange family vault key, went to Gringotts to retrieve the Dark Lord’s property, and then had the audacity to return the key to its rightful place.”
He smacked his lips. “Tsk. Truly remarkable. Honestly, not to mention the Dark Lord, even the dullest student I’ve ever taught could see through such an absurd excuse.”
“I’m telling the truth!” Bellatrix’s eyes burned with anger, tinged red from her outburst. “If we just catch the goblin, we’ll know who did it.”
“Don’t bother,” Snape said curtly. “I’ve already taken care of that for you. I used Legilimency to search the memories of a few goblins.”
“Who did it!” Bellatrix took two sharp steps forward and grabbed Snape’s shoulders in a vice-like grip.
“Let go,” Snape said disdainfully, effortlessly breaking her hold. After a brief pause, he added, “Unfortunately, the goblins’ memories contain no record of anyone ever visiting the Lestrange Vault. The last person to enter was you—the day before you were imprisoned in Azkaban.”
“That’s impossible!” Bellatrix shrieked, her voice reaching a hysterical pitch. “That’s impossible!”
“Save it for the Dark Lord,” Snape said coldly, casting her a glance filled with icy detachment. “I’m not interested.”
Bellatrix stood frozen, her mind swirling. She seemed torn between leaving immediately to explain herself to the Dark Lord and the crushing fear of what that confrontation might entail. Her breath hitched at the thought.
“The annoying one has finally quieted down,” Snape muttered, waving his wand. The glasses on the table vanished.
He conjured two new glasses and uncorked a bottle of wine.
“Have some,” he said calmly, pouring a glass and placing it in front of Narcissa. “I think you’ll need it.”
Narcissa’s trembling hands reached for the glass. She took a small sip, spilling some on herself in the process.
“Thank... thank you...” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” Snape replied coolly. “Now, you should leave.”
“No!” Narcissa’s voice rose in desperation. “Listen to me, Severus! You’re the only one who can help me now... Even though the Dark Lord forbade me to speak of this, Draco—”
“If he forbade you to speak, you should have kept quiet,” Snape interrupted, his tone sharp. “If I hadn’t already known about the plan, you could have made a grave mistake—one that might have cost you your life!”
“You knew!” Narcissa’s head shot up, surprise etched across her face.
“Yes,” Snape said evenly. “Although very few people were privy to the plan, I happen to be one of them.”
“I knew it... The Dark Lord trusts you so deeply, you must have known,” Narcissa murmured, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and sorrow.
Bellatrix, who had been standing silently nearby, stiffened at those words. Her gaze shifted to Snape, disbelief and fury written across her face.
The traitor before her—the coward who had stood by while the Dark Lord fell—was still trusted? Why should he be?
Jealousy twisted her features into something almost unrecognizable.
But neither Narcissa nor Snape paid her the slightest attention.
"You have to help me..." Narcissa pleaded, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
"Severus, Draco is only sixteen... he doesn’t know what awaits him. It’s too dangerous! The Dark Lord is just taking revenge for Lucius’s mistake—I know it!"
“When we were in the Department of Mysteries, the prophecy globe was destroyed. The Dark Lord was furious, and he needed someone to take the blame.”
"Lucius was the first to run back to him, and so the Dark Lord chose Draco just to punish Lucius. Isn’t that right?”
“Shut up,” Snape said coldly, his voice like a blade. “Do not presume to speculate on the Dark Lord’s thoughts. And when it comes to the prophecy globe, the Lestrange bears even more responsibility than Lucius.”
Narcissa’s body trembled violently, causing more wine to spill from her glass. Bellatrix, on the other hand, seemed numb, staring into the distance.
Compared to the other item she had lost, the prophecy globe felt insignificant. But she still couldn’t comprehend how it had vanished without a trace when she’d hidden the key so carefully. No one but her should have known where it was.
Bellatrix felt a wave of confusion. Had she misplaced it herself? The thought crept in like a shadow. Spending years among Dementors had fractured the minds of countless prisoners—forgetfulness and madness were common side effects of their influence.
And Snape had mentioned she visited Gringotts before her capture.
What had I been doing there? Bellatrix tried to recall, but her memories were an impenetrable fog.
Meanwhile, Narcissa was still pleading. “If Draco succeeds,” Snape said with measured calm, “he will achieve more glory than anyone else.”
“He won’t succeed!” Narcissa’s voice rose to a shriek. “No one ever has—it's Dumbledore..."
The name alone seemed to sap all her courage. Her voice quivered as she continued, “Severus, you are the Dark Lord’s most trusted confidant, his closest advisor. Can you not speak to him? Convince him...”
“The Dark Lord cannot be convinced by anyone,” Snape said icily. “I would be a fool even to attempt it.”
“No!” Narcissa clutched her chest, her breathing shallow. “If it’s truly impossible, even if it’s only half done... half will do...”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “If I’m not mistaken, the Dark Lord’s goal this time is twofold. When you say half done, could you mean...”
“Yes, that Kyle student,” Narcissa said through sobs. “I don’t know who he is, but surely he must be easier to deal with than Dumbledore, isn’t he?”
For a fleeting moment, Snape’s expression turned unreadable, but he quickly composed himself.
In a sense, she wasn’t wrong—but in another sense, she was. How should he explain it? At least facing Dumbledore, Draco’s life wasn’t at risk, even if he failed.
Snape remained silent, his lack of response making Narcissa spiral further into despair. Her sobs deepened as she clawed at her blonde hair, finally collapsing onto the floor in desperation.
“Narcissa, come now,” Snape said, helping her to her feet with surprising gentleness.
“Maybe I could... help Draco.”
Narcissa sat up straight, her teary eyes wide with hope. “You’re willing to help him on this mission?”
“No,” Snape said firmly. “This is the Dark Lord’s mission, and it must be completed by Draco alone.”
“Then... will you protect him?” Narcissa begged, clutching at Snape’s robes with trembling hands. “Will you take care of him and ensure he stays safe?”
Snape was silent for a long moment. Finally, he spoke.
“All I can say is... it can be tried.”
