HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 449

Chapter 449: Christmas Breakout

Seeing Elena’s reaction, Sean knew his guess had been right. Grandfather Gavin had already come to find her. On the one hand, he had told Sean to keep everything secret; on the other, he had gone straight to play the hero and tell his wife he was alive. That was exactly the sort of thing his grandfather would do.

Watching Elena cover her mouth and laugh, Sean finally relaxed. Since she already knew Gavin had been brought back, there was no longer any need to worry about her mental state fraying under the strain.

With that weight off his mind, this Christmas went far better for Sean than he had dared hope.

Seeing Sean and Elena both in good spirits left Yadel and Martha deeply relieved as well. Even Caesar seemed to catch their mood, racing around the house with a delighted grin. With magic to protect him, no one worried too much about bumps and falls.

That Christmas, most people had a decent holiday.

But a few did not. Some, in fact, lost their lives.

Voldemort walked alone through Azkaban, wand held loosely in one hand, the stone floor littered with corpses.

Behind him drifted the Dementors and the Death Eaters who had come with him.

“Azkaban…” he said softly. “It's hardly worthy of its reputation.”

At his words, the Death Eaters at his back broke into wild laughter. Several raised their wands and sent dark green sparks screaming into the sky. The explosions lit the Dark Mark above the fortress, making the skull and serpent leer even more hideously through the fog.

Voldemort tilted his head back slightly and half closed his eyes, basking in the awe on the faces behind him.

It felt, for this moment, as if the entire world lay beneath his feet.

“Enough,” he said at last. “Let us welcome back our old comrades.”

A surge of black smoke burst from his body, coiling outward and splitting into a swarm of shadowy serpents that poured into the depths of Azkaban.

As the minutes crawled by, harsh laughter began to echo from within the fortress. The smoke streamed back again, whirling into a vortex that opened into a passage. Figures came running and tumbling out, one after another, until they stood panting before their master.

“I knew it—I knew it! The Dark Lord would return!” a shrill voice crowed.

A very slender witch pushed ahead of the others, racing to reach Voldemort first. She dropped to her knees at his feet and, trembling with care and fanatic joy, pressed her lips to the tip of his shoe.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

One of the Dark Lord’s most trusted followers, on a level with Barty Crouch Jr.

The only woman Voldemort held the slightest regard for.

He looked down at her upturned face. A faint, almost imperceptible smile creased his snakelike features. Fingers closing around her chin, he lifted her head and studied her.

“Ah… Bellatrix,” he murmured. “After all these years, you have never once wavered in your devotion. I am pleased. Even among my Death Eaters, you and little Barty are the finest.”

“Because I always knew,” Bellatrix breathed, eyes shining. “I knew that pathetic Harry Potter could never truly defeat you, my Lord. I knew you would return one day to lead us and finish the great work left undone ten years ago.”

Voldemort’s hand slid slowly along her cheek.

Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother Rabastan watched this from the crowd. Neither showed the slightest trace of a husband’s outrage or a man’s wounded pride. Instead, they were suffused with a feverish excitement and a twisted sort of honour. That the Dark Lord trusted Bellatrix and deigned to favour her was, in their minds, the greatest glory their family had ever known.

For Rodolphus in particular, the thought that his wife knelt at Voldemort’s feet thrilled him more than any image of her kneeling before him. That the man under whose heel she bowed was his master, the great Dark Lord himself, only drove his exultation higher.

Voldemort tipped Bellatrix’s chin up and let her rise to stand before him.

“That is enough, Bellatrix,” he said. “Stand behind me.”

“As you command, my Lord.”

She moved to his back and took her place at one shoulder. Barty Crouch Jr stood at the other. For reasons neither voiced, they behaved as if the other did not exist. They neither looked at nor spoke to each other, each occupying their side of the Dark Lord’s shadow in absolute silence.

Voldemort was not unaware of the tension between them, but he made no move to address it. So long as both were willing to die for him, that was all that mattered.

Ten Death Eaters in all had been freed this night. These were the ones Voldemort had chosen to take with him.

His trust in this group ran far deeper than in those who had wriggled out of Azkaban by every legal trick and technicality they could find and then lived comfortably for a decade while he was gone. In Voldemort’s mind, such people were scarcely different from traitors. If he had not been in dire need of manpower, he would not have let them off so lightly.

“Ah… Rodolphus, Rabastan,” he said. “My most capable Lestrange brothers. I am pleased to see you again.”

Rodolphus and Rabastan threw themselves flat at his feet.

“To crawl at your feet once more is our greatest honour, my Lord—and the honour of the House of Lestrange!” Rodolphus cried.

“I have never doubted your loyalty,” Voldemort told them. “Not for an instant.”

The brothers shook with emotion, almost sobbing in their joy. Voldemort gave them a slow nod, then turned his eyes to the next pair.

“Antonin. Augustus. It has been too long,” he said. “I recall you as eager young men, always coming to me with questions about magic, always at the forefront when it was time to charge. I trust you will still be there, wands raised, when I call.”

“To give everything for you, my Lord!” Antonin Dolohov said fervently.

“We will obey your every command!” Augustus Rookwood added.

“Excellent. Excellent…” Voldemort’s gaze swept over the line of freed prisoners and the loyalists behind him. “Very good. Apart from the fools who thought it wise to break with me entirely, my Death Eaters have all returned to my service. Alongside them, new recruits stand ready, and behind those, the dark wizards who march under their banner.

“This time, I will lead you to a complete victory.

“I will take this world for our own.

“I will kill Albus Dumbledore with my own wand. I will kill Harry Potter with my own wand.

“I will show you—and all of them—that I am the greatest wizard who has ever lived. That I am the one who deserves the worship of the masses. That I am the rightful master of this world.

“I am the Dark Lord.

“I am Lord Voldemort.”