​The parchment is still crisp, smelling faintly of cheap Ministry ink and morning owl-post.

​Spread across the dark oak of your desk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, the front page of the Daily Prophet blares its moving headline in bold, screaming black type:

​MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS FOCUS FOR ESCAPED DEATH EATERS

​Below the text, moving photographs shift in endless, silent loops. Fourteen grim, hollowed faces stare out from behind iron bars. But your eyes pass over the rest, landing instantly on the woman in the center row.

​Bellatrix.

​She looks gaunt, her heavy-lidded eyes shadowed by years of Dementors and cold stone, but even through the grainy newsprint, her dark, wild gaze retains that unmistakable, volatile edge. Fourteen souls freed in a single night. Fourteen loyal servants returned to the Dark Lord's side—and chief among them, your wife.

​You trace a thumb over the edge of the moving photograph, the silver ring on your left hand catching the dim candlelight of your office. For over thirteen years, she’s been locked away in the North Tower, a ghost you could only reach in memories. Now she is breathing open air.

​Hogwarts is suffocating today. Outside your window, the winter sky hangs heavy over the grounds, and down in the Great Hall, Dolores Umbridge is undoubtedly preening over Ministry decrees while Dumbledore quietly bides his time. You know Bella won't risk coming here—not yet. Castle wards are tight, and Dumbledore’s presence is too dangerous for a high-profile fugitive.

​Where will she hide?

Lord Voldemort will keep her close, likely at Malfoy Manor or Grimmauld Place if the Dark Lord reclaims old ground. But Bella is never one to stay quiet for long.

​A knock at your heavy oak office door breaks the silence, sharp and demanding. ​You quickly fold the Daily Prophet in half, sliding it beneath a stack of essay scrolls on your desk, and fold your hands over the surface.