Chapter 424

Dusk, Godric's Hollow

Godric's Hollow, a village steeped in history, was named after Godric Gryffindor, one of the founders of Hogwarts. Nestled in a serene valley, it served as a unique convergence of the magical and non-magical world. Wizards and Squibs lived side by side with a smattering of unsuspecting Muggles, creating a peaceful harmony rarely seen elsewhere in the wizarding world.

In the center of the square stood an obelisk, its surface engraved with names—a war memorial for the Muggle residents. But to wizards, the monument appeared differently: a statue depicting three figures.

A bespectacled man with unruly hair stood beside a kind-looking woman holding a baby boy in her arms. They were none other than James, Lily, and Harry Potter—the family whose sacrifice had brought about Voldemort's downfall.

Near the statue sat an older man on a weathered bench. His walrus-like mustache quivered slightly as he frowned at the Daily Prophet in his hands. Dressed in a well-worn brown suit, his rounded figure gave him an air of amiable indulgence, but the sharpness in his eyes told another story.

Horace Slughorn, the former Head of Slytherin House and founder of the Slug Club, was no stranger to power and intrigue. Today, however, he was a man burdened by heavy thoughts.

The headline of the Daily Prophet screamed: "Sirius Declares: Death Eaters Will Be Captured, and Peace Restored!"

Horace's lips pursed as he scanned the article, which painted a rosy picture of Sirius Black as a courageous hero dedicated to restoring peace. The words lauded Sirius's supposed undercover work in Azkaban, framing him as a selfless figure who had endured years of suffering to gather intelligence on Voldemort's followers.

"Rubbish," Horace muttered, shaking his head.

The story was a fabrication, a clumsy attempt by the Ministry of Magic to save face after the disastrous Azkaban prison break. Horace knew better. Nearly all the Aurors had been killed during the breakout, and a legion of Death Eaters and dark wizards had escaped, leaving the Ministry scrambling to regain control.

The notion of Sirius Black enduring humiliation to infiltrate Azkaban struck Horace as laughable. He knew Sirius well enough to recognize that guilt and a sense of responsibility for his friends' deaths had likely driven him to that hellish prison. Atonement, not strategy, was Sirius's true motive.

As Horace's eyes drifted to the statue of the Potters, a pang of sadness gripped his heart.

Lily, he thought, you gave everything for peace. And now it seems that peace is slipping through our fingers.

Horace sighed deeply. The jailbreak was no mere coincidence. He suspected a powerful dark wizard had orchestrated it, and the signs pointed to only one possibility: Voldemort had returned.

Having been privy to Voldemort's darkest secrets during his rise to power, Horace knew better than most that the Dark Lord was not easily defeated. He had taken great care to erase his tracks in recent years, avoiding undue attention, but now it seemed he would need to vanish entirely.

Time to disappear again, Horace thought grimly.

Rising from his seat, he left the square and headed toward the valley's winding streets. Over the years, he had established multiple safe houses across the country, each stocked with resources to facilitate a quick escape. But this time, he would leave England altogether. The stakes were too high to risk staying.

The streets of Godric's Hollow were quiet as Horace walked briskly toward his modest home. It was an unassuming blackstone cottage nestled among others of similar design, its charm lying in its plainness.

Once inside, Horace wasted no time. Drawing his wand, he cast a series of concealment spells to ensure he remained undetected. Satisfied with his efforts, he entered his bedroom and approached a well-worn wardrobe.

From its depths, he retrieved a small, enchanted safe. With a practiced touch of his wand, he unlocked it, revealing a space far larger than it appeared.

Horace muttered an incantation, and in an instant, his portly figure transformed into a porcupine, its spiked body compact and deceptively nimble.

The Animagus form had served him well over the years, allowing him to access tight spaces and avoid detection. The porcupine scurried into the safe, where the interior expanded into a well-organized storage space.

Returning to his human form, Horace surveyed the treasures within. Shelves lined with rare potion ingredients gleamed under a soft magical light, and piles of gold Galleons sparkled temptingly to his right.

A faint smile crossed his lips. Years of careful networking and potion-making had amassed him considerable wealth, enough to sustain a comfortable life abroad.

After a moment's satisfaction, he began preparing for departure. He transfigured the safe into a suitcase, enchanted to be light as a feather despite its contents.

As Horace made his way to the front door, his thoughts raced.

The official routes are too risky. I'll have to rely on smugglers this time. Merlin help me—long-distance Apparition has never agreed with my constitution.

Suddenly, the air around him chilled. His steps faltered as a faint yet unmistakable sense of unease crept over him.

"Professor Slughorn, long time no see."

The voice, slightly hoarse but unmistakably mocking, froze Horace Slughorn in his tracks. He swallowed hard, his wand tightening in his grip, as he turned slowly to face the speaker.

By the tea table in the hall stood a group of dark wizards, their black robes exuding a malevolent aura. At the forefront was a tall, pale wizard with a cruel smirk: Yaxley, one of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters.

"Yaxley," Slughorn said cautiously, his tone strained, "what brings you here?" His eyes darted toward the door as he began edging backward, his movements slow and deliberate. "If you'll excuse me, I have pressing matters to attend to."

Yaxley's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with malice. "No need to rush, Professor. The Dark Lord has extended an invitation to you. He has returned and assures your safety—provided you cooperate."

Slughorn's face darkened. He could hear the veiled threat beneath Yaxley's polite words. Without wasting another moment, he raised his wand and shouted, "Apparate!"

But instead of the familiar pull of magic whisking him away, a black shimmer rippled through the air, anchoring him in place.

Anti-Apparition!

Before Slughorn could react, a flurry of curses erupted from the Death Eaters.

"Stupefy!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Imperio!"

Slughorn's reflexes, surprisingly agile for his age and build, kicked in. He dodged and deflected the incoming spells with remarkable speed, his wand moving in practiced arcs.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Confringo!"

"Protego!"

The hall filled with flashes of red and green as spells collided, sending shards of glass and splinters of wood flying. The walls cracked under the strain, and the air grew thick with the acrid scent of burning magic.

"Professor," Yaxley called out mockingly between curses, his voice laced with fanatical zeal. "The Dark Lord has risen to a new level of power—wisdom and strength unmatched. Join us, and you'll share in his glory!"

Slughorn gritted his teeth, blocking another barrage of spells. "Glory?" he spat, his voice filled with disdain. "You mean eternal servitude under a madman who values nothing but his own power? No, thank you."

Yaxley's face twisted with rage. "You dare insult the Dark Lord?"

Slughorn barely dodged a slicing hex aimed at his chest, countering with a disarming charm that sent a Death Eater's wand clattering to the ground. But he was outnumbered, and exhaustion was setting in.

Just as a streak of green light from a Killing Curse narrowly missed him, a powerful voice rang out.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Stupefy!"

Slughorn turned to see a group of Aurors rushing into the hall, led by none other than Sirius Black. Their combined spells formed a protective barrier around Slughorn, momentarily halting the Death Eaters' advance.

"Professor Slughorn," Sirius called, his voice firm but reassuring, "we've got this. Get to safety!"

Before Slughorn could respond, another voice joined the fray.

"Protego!"

A pale golden barrier shimmered into existence, encasing Slughorn in a protective dome. Gilderoy Lockhart stepped forward, his wand radiating power as he faced the Death Eaters with a calm, almost casual confidence.

"Professor Slughorn," Lockhart said gently, "we received intelligence that you were a target. Luckily, we arrived in time."

Relief washed over Slughorn, and he allowed himself a brief smile. "Lockhart, it's been a while. You've certainly lived up to the reputation of Hogwarts' finest."

Lockhart's smile was modest. "Just doing my part, Professor. Now, let us handle this."

Lockhart stepped into the fray, his wand a blur as he unleashed a series of powerful spells.

"Confringo!"

"Expulso!"

"Incarcerous!"

Each spell struck its mark with precision, forcing the Death Eaters to retreat. Yaxley's composure faltered as he realized the tide of battle was turning.

Desperate, Yaxley rolled up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his forearm. Pressing his wand to the mark, he began to chant in a low, guttural voice.

"Great Dark Lord, your faithful servant calls to you. Grant me strength to smite our enemies!"

The room seemed to darken as an oppressive aura filled the space. Dark green runes etched themselves onto Yaxley's face, pulsating with malevolent energy. His voice rose, laced with dark magic.

"Damned Lockhart," Yaxley snarled. "I curse your soul to decay! I curse your body to rot! I curse your magic to wither!"

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