Harry Potter and the HQL - Chapter - 10

It was early morning at Highgarden when the silence of breakfast was shattered. The house-elves had just begun serving pumpkin juice and toast when a sharp CRACK echoed from the garden. An owl, cloaked in gray and dusted with ash, soared through the manor windows and landed on the breakfast table.

It carried a fresh edition of the Daily Prophet—the ink still smudging at the corners, the paper trembling as if with the weight of the news it held.

Harry reached for it, the others watching curiously. He unfolded the front page and read the bold headline aloud:

“SHOCK BREAKOUT AT AZKABAN — BELLATRIX LESTRANGE ESCAPES!”

By Barnabas Cuffe, Senior Correspondent

In the most shocking development since the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Bellatrix Lestrange—infamous Death Eater and convicted murderer—has escaped from Azkaban.

According to the Ministry of Magic, Lestrange was visited yesterday by her sister, Narcissa Malfoy, in what was reported as a routine, legally sanctioned visitation.

Less than six hours later, Aurors discovered a breach in Cell Block Seven. Lestrange was gone.

Ministry officials confirm that she attempted to flee with her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, and his brother Rabastan, but both were caught by roaming Dementors during the escape and were kissed before they could exit the main ward. Only Bellatrix survived and vanished into the sea mist.

“This is not just a prison break,” said Auror Dawlish. “This is a security collapse. Azkaban was considered unbreakable. And Bellatrix Lestrange… she’s not just another inmate. She was the Dark Lord’s most loyal follower.”

The Ministry has issued a Level One Emergency Alert. All Aurors have been mobilized. Bellatrix Lestrange is considered armed, mentally unstable, and extremely dangerous.

The Muggle Prime Minister has also been notified after early sightings placed Lestrange near the coastal town of Whitby, where Muggle authorities described her as a “deranged, barefoot woman in tattered robes, laughing wildly and ranting about someone named the Master.”

The Ministry has since modified Muggle memory and alerted the International Confederation of Wizards.

Citizens are urged to stay indoors after dark and report any strange behavior or sightings to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

The paper fell from Harry’s fingers. Silence filled the hall.

Fred slowly said what they were all thinking. “Someone actually did it… I mean escaped from Azkaban.”

Hermione stood, pale. “They said the Dementors caught Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Kissed. Dead.”

George’s hands were shaking. “That’s… Azkaban. No one escapes Azkaban. Bellatrix—actually did it.”

“She’s not just dangerous,” George said quietly. “She’s insane and powerful. She is the tortured Neville’s parents to the edge of death. She’ll do anything for Voldemort.”

Harry’s face was grim. “This isn’t just about one madwoman on the loose. This means someone helped her. Someone got her out. And it means Voldemort is closer to returning than the Ministry thinks.”

That same morning, across the non-magical world, Muggle authorities were dealing with a very different version of the same horror. At a mental health hospital in Yorkshire, a nurse reported seeing:

“A skeletal woman in prison stripes, barefoot and grinning, screaming in some foreign language about someone named the Master coming for her.”

She had wandered through the seaside town, frightening children and setting off several security alerts before vanishing in a storm drain behind a Muggle bookstore. CCTV footage caught her only once—flickering eyes, matted black hair, her mouth twisted in something between a snarl and a laugh.

“She looked like someone straight out of a horror novel,” one constable told the press. “Eyes like a jackal.”

But by the time the Obliviators arrived, she was already gone.

Back at Highgarden, Harry folded the newspaper again, his jaw set.

“She’s not hiding,” he said. “She’s moving. She wants us to know she’s free.”

Hermione looked at him sharply. “You don’t think she’ll try to come back to Hogwarts, do you?”

“No,” Harry replied. “Not yet. But she’ll be waiting. Waiting for something. Or someone.”

There was a pause.

Then Luna, who had been silent all morning, spoke softly, “The wind in the forest changed last night. Like it was holding its breath.”

Fred looked at George.

“She’s the first,” George whispered. “Others will follow.”


Harry was in the workshop, reviewing the latest balance spells for his new broomstick when he heard a familiar voice call from below.

“Harry! You up there?”

He rushed down the staircase to find Neville standing in the entrance hall, slightly out of breath from flooing to the manor gates and jogging the rest of the way.

“Neville,” Harry greeted, concerned. “You heard, didn’t you?”

Neville nodded, his expression difficult to read—jaw tight, eyes distant. “Not from the paper. My gran has friends at the Ministry. They told her before it went public.”

He paused, then added in a low voice, “She told me right away.”

Harry said nothing for a moment. Then he gestured toward the sitting room. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

The two boys sat by the large windows overlooking the forest. Rosly brought them cold pumpkin juice, but neither touched their glasses.

Neville stared at his hands. “I always thought I’d be happy if something happened to them. Rodolphus and Rabastan, I mean. The Dementors kissed them, Harry. They’re… gone. Completely. And a part of me is glad. I can’t help it.”

“You should be,” Harry said firmly. “They tortured your parents. That kind of evil doesn’t deserve sympathy.”

Neville looked up, his voice brittle. “And Bellatrix? She’s out there.”

Harry nodded. “Yes. But listen to me—if she was the most loyal to Voldemort, she’ll come after me. That’s what they do. They go for the mark.”

He leaned forward. “And when she does… you’ll be ready. You’ll be the one to face her. You’ll show her what real courage looks like. It’ll be your wand that ends her.”

Neville swallowed hard, his chest rising with quiet emotion. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Then I’m going to train,” he said. “Harder than ever.”

It wasn’t long before Fred and George saw Neville, both grim-faced but determined. They found Neville in the courtyard sparring against one of the enchanted training dummies, wand slashing the air with precision.

“You’re early,” George said.

“Not early,” Neville replied. “Just starting before the rest of the world does.”

Fred clapped him on the back. “Then we’re training with you. Because if Bellatrix Lestrange ever steps near you, mate—we’re going to be there, too.”

“I knew you’d be here,” Hermoine said to Neville, handing him a wrapped sandwich. “Training won’t help much if you don’t eat.”

Luna gave him a dreamy smile. “You look stronger already, Neville. Like a mandrake that finally bloomed.”

Neville actually chuckled at that, taking the sandwich. “Thanks. All of you.”

That evening, as the stars came out and the lanterns floated above the practice pitch, the Stars Club sat around the stone fire circle.

Neville, for the first time, told them everything.

He spoke of his parents—Frank and Alice Longbottom, once great Aurors who had faced Voldemort’s most fanatical servants. Of how they had been tortured into madness, left alive but gone. Of how he used to feel ashamed, wondering if he was living in the shadow of a name too great to bear.

“But Harry told me something in our first year,” Neville said, staring into the fire. “That I had nothing to be ashamed of. That they were heroes. And I believed him.”

Harry nodded. “Because they were. Still are.”

No one spoke for a while. But the fire burned steady, and the silence was filled with unity, with shared purpose.

They were more than friends now. More than club members.

They were a family bound not just by school or magic—but by purpose.

The new term was approaching, and the Hogwarts Express would soon call them back. But Neville made a promise to himself and to his friends that night.

Bellatrix Lestrange would be dealt with—not by revenge, but by justice.

And when that moment came…
Neville Longbottom would not flinch.


The sun was already high over Highgarden when the rhythmic sounds of spellfire echoed across the manor’s dueling yard. There, surrounded by fluttering wards and training enchantments, a dozen young witches and wizards moved in coordinated practice—wands raised, incantations spoken with sharp clarity, magic dancing between them in controlled bursts of light.

It was a sight Sirius Black and Remus Lupin hadn’t seen before.

Usually, it had been the Weasley twins, Neville, and Harry who trained in the summers. But now…

Sirius stood at the edge of the garden path, hands on hips, watching as Hermione Granger expertly disarmed Blaise Zabini, only to have Theodore Nott launch a stunning hex at her seconds later. Luna Lovegood stood calmly to the side, casting a slow-moving shield charm, while Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis sparred with sharp elegance.

“Blimey,” Sirius muttered. “It looks like Stars Club is building a new army.”

Remus chuckled softly beside him. “They’re training like they expect a war.”

“They're right to,” Sirius replied grimly.

Harry spotted them from across the yard. Lowering his wand and motioning for Fred and George to hold their duel, he jogged over.

“You’re late,” Harry said, eyes sharp beneath the shadow of his fringe.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Late for what?”

“For me,” Harry said flatly. “You knew Bellatrix escaped. I thought… I thought you'd come yesterday.”

There was a beat of silence. Even Remus looked slightly uncomfortable.

Sirius sighed and stepped closer, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“You’re right. I should have come straight here,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t just pacing around thinking about her. I was dealing with her.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange…” Sirius paused, then corrected himself. “Bellatrix Black… was born a Black, Harry. Just like me. And now that her husband and brother-in-law are dead, legally she’s Bellatrix Black again.”

“That matters?” Fred asked, stepping closer.

Remus nodded. “It matters a lot.”

Sirius turned to the group now gathering around him. “The Black family has properties—estates, hideouts, secret vaults. Some protected by ancient bloodline magic. Now that Rodolphus and Rabastan are gone, Bella’s next in line for anything tied to the Black name. I had to spend the entire day yesterday locking down those properties—checking the wards, reinforcing the vault restrictions, even negotiating with Gringotts.”

“Could she get into Gringotts?” Hermione asked.

Sirius shook his head. “Not anymore. The goblins agreed to restrict access to vaults solely tied to me, the last Head of House. But the old estate in Dorset? The hunting lodge in Calais? The cursed dungeons under Black Manor in Grimwade Valley? All of them had family blood access charms.”

“So you had to cut her out?” Daphne asked.

“I had to erase her signature from every known Black-warded place,” Sirius said. “That’s why I didn’t come yesterday. Because if I hadn’t moved fast, Bellatrix might have walked right into one of those hideouts and vanished again with resources we can't afford her to have.”

Harry's expression softened slightly, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely ease.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I understand.”

The silence that followed was heavier than most.

Finally, Luna, who had been silent until then, tilted her head and asked dreamily, “What was she like? Before Azkaban?”

Everyone looked to Sirius.

Sirius exhaled. “She was… brilliant. Beautiful, even. Sharp as glass. She had that Black family fire, you know? But twisted.”

“Toxic brilliance,” Remus added quietly.

“She was the pride of the family,” Sirius continued. “Before me, before Regulus. My mother used to say Bellatrix would burn the world clean of blood traitors. They loved her for it.”

“She believed it?” Blaise asked.

“Every word,” Sirius said bitterly. “She believed in purity, in loyalty, in the Dark Lord. She joined him not for power—but because she worshipped him. Azkaban didn’t make her mad, it just revealed the madness that was always there.”

Neville stepped forward then, wand still clenched in one hand, his face pale but steady.

“She tortured my parents,” he said, voice level. “And now she’s free. So I don’t care what she used to be. She’s a monster.”

Sirius looked at Neville for a long time. Then nodded.

“She is.”

After that, no one felt like dueling anymore. The group dispersed for the morning, some returning to study, others to the gardens or the Quidditch pitch. But the weight of Bellatrix Black lingered in the air like a dark shadow.

Harry stood beside Sirius on the Highgarden balcony later that evening, watching the others from above.

“She’s not hiding, you know,” Harry said quietly.

“I know,” Sirius replied. “She will be searching for him.”

“And we’ll be ready,” Harry promised.

Sirius looked at him, then nodded slowly. “Yes. We will.”