“The Fall of Azkaban”

"The Fall of Azkaban"

"Hahahahaha… he's completely insane!" exclaimed Sirius, letting out a wild laugh as he waved the newspaper in the air with a joy that bordered on euphoria.

The other members of the Order, who had only just begun arriving for the meeting, froze with expressions of bewilderment before silently stepping closer to look. Bill was the first to take the paper in tense hands.

"Oi… oi… is this serious?" he murmured, reading each line in disbelief.

One by one, the others widened their eyes, caught between stunned horror and a grimace that was trying to pass for a smile.

"By Merlin…" Molly whispered, her voice trembling as the black letters seemed to devour her with their threat.

"Hahaha…" Moody let out a rough bark of laughter, sharing Sirius's incredulity.

Attack on Azkaban. The island has been seized by a wizard of unknown power. No survivors reported among the Dementors who guarded it. Extreme caution advised. The Ministry is preparing an emergency operation to confront an enemy potentially more dangerous than the Dark Lord himself.

—

Approximately two days ago:

The Dementors drifted in the air, their presence corrupting every last shred of hope in the prisoners. Among the freezing currents that coiled around the fortress, thousands of those creatures were preparing to withdraw under Voldemort's orders.

Then, all of them stopped.

Without warning, in absolute silence, every Dementor turned its hollow face in the same direction, as if some ancient instinct compelled them to acknowledge that something older and more devastating than themselves was approaching.

A golden radiance appeared on the horizon, swelling until it swallowed the night. And there, hovering above the stormy sea, a being with luminous wings watched the scene with a contempt so absolute that even the ocean itself shuddered.

Einar.

A dragon who walked like a man.

Or a man who could become a god.

His silhouette advanced without haste. Each step he took through the air was a sentence written in fire and blood. He allowed the Dementors to surround him—dozens, hundreds, thousands of starving shadows swirling into a black vortex that blotted out the entire world.

They did not see a single soul but hundreds merged together, an ancient choir of dragons whose memories pulsed within his heart. Even for the Dementors, it was a feast impossible to resist.

Einar's voice rose, deep and resonant, making the waves rise like walls and the black tower of Azkaban groan with a metallic wail.

"Aura of Stendarr."

And within the darkness, light was born.

A radiant sun detonated in the midst of the swarm, so brilliant it made the horizon tremble. The air ignited. The sea began to boil. The agonized chorus of the Dementors thundered across the sky as their bodies combusted, dissolving into pure ash.

The prisoners, buried in their cells, felt for a moment the warmth and clarity. Some, too frail to understand, believed they had died and awakened in another world.

In the tower, the Aurors reacted. Their staves lifted as one, activating barriers inscribed in stone and blood for centuries. A swarm of runes blazed in a last act of defense.

But Einar kept walking.

His silhouette passed through the shields as if they were veils of smoke. Every seal, every incantation, every defense woven through generations shattered into tiny fragments that disappeared on the wind.

He stopped at the very heart of Azkaban, the exact center of the labyrinth. His eyes, golden and searing, opened wide.

"GOL HAH DOV."

The command rang out like thunder, echoing so powerfully that even the rocks bowed.

In an instant, every living thing—man, beast, specter—fell to their knees, crushed by a force they could not comprehend. Even the sea recoiled.

"Those who are free of sin… stand."

His voice was a divine decree.

Only a handful of trembling figures managed to rise. It was not courage. It was not pride. It was the confirmation that Einar did not lie: before him, no one could pretend innocence.

He nodded, and dozens of red tendrils emerged from his shadow. In the blink of an eye, they wrapped around those spared and lifted them from the ground, carrying them away to an uncertain fate.

Silence returned.

Then, his gaze turned colder still.

"LUN KRII AUS."

The entire world darkened.

Death itself walked with Einar as his aura unfurled in all directions. Not a single soul was untouched. Every criminal, every murderer, every servant of Voldemort collapsed without a final breath. An absolute cleansing. An execution without glory.

When it was done, Einar rose to the tower's pinnacle. His human form reappeared, exhausted from maintaining his draconic shape for so long. Even so, he noted coolly that he could sustain it longer each time.

From above, he surveyed the stillness of the island, now empty of all evil.

"With this, no one else will join the war," he declared, his voice so calm that even the wind seemed to hold its breath. "Let's see how brave you are without an army, Tom Riddle."

He took a step forward.

Of course, he would allow his students to witness the war with their own eyes. They would learn not to fear it. But he would never tolerate the enemy having enough power to harm even one of them.

Indeed, Einar would begin tearing every hiding place of dark wizards out by the roots. One by one. Because only if the war erupted fully, would it finally end.

And he would not allow his students to live years in fear in a cowardly world.

As they say:

War makes strong men.

Peace breeds weakness.

Einar was harsh. Implacable.

But no one could ever say he was not just.

…

During the Christmas holidays, everyone gathered at Sirius's house. That dark mansion was suddenly filled with an unexpected warmth as they started hanging decorations, lighting candles, and setting the table with wooden plates, steaming mugs, and enchanted garlands that changed color.

It was an excuse to celebrate, yes, but also to be together and make sure Mr. Weasley was all right. Even though they had been told he was out of danger, everyone still carried the worry like a stone in their throats, especially the Weasley brothers, who paced back and forth without knowing where to put their hands.

But when they reached the dining room and saw him sitting there, calm, eating with an appetite that left no doubt, they all let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Hahaha… looks like the professor has gone mad," said Fred, leaning back in his chair, laughing as he clutched his stomach with both hands. He was holding the newspaper open, the enormous headline legible from meters away.

"Don't say that!" protested Hermione, frowning with a scolding tone that couldn't quite hide her unease.

"What do you think he did with the prisoners?" asked George, peering over his brother's shoulder, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"We're talking about Einar… what do you think he did?" Sirius chimed in, joining the conversation as he poured more tea. His expression was a mix of respect and resignation. "Moody found many wizards and witches who'd been prisoners… in a village near the coast. Apparently, they were the ones who turned out to be innocent."

Harry lifted his gaze from the tablecloth.

"That way… Voldemort won't have any more followers escaping to strengthen his army."

"Exactly," Sirius agreed calmly.

A brief silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the tinkling of an ornament.

"Though… I would have liked to spend Christmas with the professor," Hermione murmured, lowering her gaze as her voice grew softer.

"He's doing it for us," Harry said before he could stop himself. His own words seemed so certain that he could hardly believe he'd spoken them. Because deep down, he was starting to see the pattern in every one of Einar's steps:

He and Neville, training without rest, learning to move with precision, to think like hunters instead of prey.

Then, Einar stepping back a little, leaving them space to stumble and stand up on their own.

And now, marching to Azkaban, not just to purge the rot but to remove himself from the board and force Voldemort to reveal all his pieces.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He also remembered that before leaving, Einar had left a safeguard in Hogwarts. Dren. And a warning that no one dared ignore.

"Even though it always seems like he solves everything with his fists… I have to admit that when he starts strategizing, he's even scarier," Sirius remarked, with a crooked smile as he leaned back in his chair.

"Maybe because solving everything with fists is easier… and faster," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow and letting out a short laugh that eased the tension in the room.

No one argued with that conclusion. Because, though each of them said it in a different tone, they all knew it was true.

—

"I knew he was dangerous, I said it from the start!" roared Fudge, slamming both hands onto the desk. The papers shuddered, a sea of documents and complaints from pureblood families demanding answers about their relatives imprisoned in Azkaban, asking if they were still alive.

That infuriated him more than anything else.

Every letter, every grievance, every accusing stare pointed straight at him, as if everyone had forgotten that he had spent years warning about that "man no one could control."

"Arrest Dumbledore! He hired him! He knew perfectly well he was a monster… hold him responsible for everything—now!" he shouted, his voice cracking with panic and fury as he jabbed a trembling finger into the air.

Percy, who stood there with unshakeable composure, nodded once before turning on his heel and walking out with decisive steps.

"Wait," Fudge barked, stopping him with a brusque gesture. His feverish gaze lit up with a glint of calculation. "I'll go myself. If I can capture him… if I can put that old man in custody, I'll clear part of my name."

"Shall I call someone to accompany you… or do you believe you alone can face Dumbledore?" Percy asked in a tone so serene that to Fudge, it sounded like mockery. But when he looked into Percy's expressionless face, his bloated ego decided it must have been a genuine question.

"Bring Shacklebolt… and a couple more Aurors. I don't think that old man has the strength to resist, but… better to be sure," Fudge said, trying to make his voice sound firm.

"Yes, sir," Percy replied before disappearing down the corridor.

Shortly after, the group assembled: twenty Aurors with wands raised, surrounding the Headmaster's office like a silent army. Fudge, Shacklebolt, Percy, and another Auror advanced in the vanguard.

The door opened with an almost solemn whisper.

Dumbledore was there, seated behind his desk, his hands folded, wearing the calm expression of someone who had seen everything.

"Cornelius… to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he asked calmly, as if they'd simply come for tea.

"Don't play dumb, Dumbledore!" Fudge snapped, his voice brittle. "Your professor took Azkaban, attacked Dolores, and has now disappeared… all of this happened under your watch!"

"It is true," Dumbledore conceded with a sigh that sounded too serene. "It seems I am getting old. I no longer hear everything as I used to."

"I warned you! I told you to fire that man! But you insisted on keeping him here, and look at the result. This is all your fault!" Fudge bellowed, stamping the floor with the tip of his cane.

"It is," Dumbledore admitted with a serenity that chilled the air. "Even for me, Einar was… difficult to control. Although, if it's any comfort, he always cared about the students."

For an instant, his blue eyes lost their gentle sparkle and turned so cold and ancient that everyone felt a shiver in their stomachs. Fudge was the first to look away.

"I apologize for that," Dumbledore added, returning to the calm tone that was so characteristic of him.

"Shacklebolt, Dolissh… escort Dumbledore. Take him into custody," Fudge ordered, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"Sir… Azkaban…" Percy murmured cautiously.

"I know." Fudge wiped a hand over his sweat-soaked hair. "For now, take him to a cell in the Ministry. There we will try him for conspiracy and sedition," he added, regaining his satisfied smile.

"Ah… though I would love to spend some time at the Ministry," Dumbledore said as he rose with all the dignity in the world, "just like my professor, I have no intention of remaining in a cell."

In that instant, Fawkes took flight from his perch. The phoenix beat his wings with a crystalline song and settled on Dumbledore's shoulder.

The Headmaster clapped once, softly.

A blinding flare exploded around them. The wave of heat shoved everyone backward like leaves in the wind. When the brilliance faded, Dumbledore was gone without a trace.

For several seconds, no one moved.

Only the crackle of embers remained in the room, and the faint scent of clean air and ash.

Shacklebolt was the first to break the silence.

"You may not like it, Minister," he said, brushing the dust from his coat with deliberate calm, "but you can't deny that everyone in this school… has style."

—

If you're wondering why all of this is happening at Christmas, which is only halfway through the school year, it's because my idea is not to have Harry waste an entire school year hunting for those damn Horcruxes.

I, just like Voldy, care about his education.HAHAHA