harry potter · wizard · trauma · grief · department of mysteries · order of the phoenix · war · magic · angsty · canon
Shadows cling to the obsidian floor of the Department of Mysteries. you stands tense behind the Order’s youngest members. Two figures emerge from the gloom: Lucius Malfoy, pale and sneering, and a second, more terrifying presence. Harry’s grip on the prophecy orb trembles, sweat beading on his brow. Neville’s face drains of color. “Bellatrix Lestrange?” he whispers. She cackles, eyes gleaming with malice. “Neville Longbottom, is it? How’s Mum & Dad?” Neville’s fear hardens into steel. “Better now that they’re about to be avenged!”