A female Death Eater from Azkaban.
One who knew Sirius.
There was only one possibility.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
In the original tiline, she had tortured Hermione with the Cruciatus Curse—and carved the word Mudblood into her arm.
Even though those events had not happened in this world—and would never happen—Arthur still felt a cold surge of killing intent rise within him.
So people did not deserve second chances.
Bellatrix was one of them.
She was Voldemort’s hound. A willing butcher.
Killing her would not weigh on his conscience.
Harry suddenly shivered.
The room felt several degrees colder.
He looked up and saw the faint frost in Arthur’s eyes.
"...Is sothing wrong?"
Arthur withdrew the killing intent effortlessly.
"I think I know who she is."
Harry’s eyes widened.
"Who?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange. Sirius’s cousin."
Harry froze.
His godfather’s... cousin?
"How could she kill her own family?!"
To soone who had grown up starved of affection, the idea was incomprehensible.
Arthur waved it off lightly.
"She’s a Death Eater. That group stopped valuing family a long ti ago."
Many pure-blood supremacists were obsessed with lineage purity—so obsessed that inbreeding was commonplace.
Even wizard resilience had limits.
The closer the bloodline, the more unstable the mind.
One look at Voldemort’s inner circle was proof enough.
Sadism. Obsession. Fanaticism.
Madness ca naturally to them.
Harry slowly nodded.
He now had a na.
But Bellatrix hadn’t been the one to cast the Killing Curse.
"I rember," Harry said, jaw tight. "The one who actually killed him was shorter. Broad. He ca in from behind."
"Do you know who the other two were?"
Arthur shrugged.
"Too many Death Eaters to morize."
Then he paused.
His senses flicked toward the window.
"...You can ask your godfather."
Harry turned—
And saw a translucent figure drifting in through the glass.
Sirius Black.
Now a ghost.
"Harry," the spirit said gently. "I’m relieved you’re safe."
"Godfather!"
Harry rushed forward—
And passed straight through him.
The cold was bone-deep.
Reality struck hard.
Sirius was no longer alive.
Harry swallowed his grief and steadied himself.
"Do you know who killed you? I want their nas."
"I didn’t see their faces," Sirius replied. "But describe them."
Harry did.
Sirius thought for a mont.
"...Lestrange brothers."
Arthur murmured softly.
"Rabastan and Rodolphus."
Harry looked at him.
"You know them?"
"By reputation."
Arthur explained calmly:
"Rabastan Lestrange. Rodolphus Lestrange. Rodolphus is Bellatrix’s husband."
Harry blinked.
The whole family?
Death Eaters?
Arthur didn’t bother adding that Bellatrix did not love Rodolphus in the slightest. Their marriage had been a political arrangent.
Her devotion belonged elsewhere.
Voldemort.
Whether Rodolphus realized he had effectively been overshadowed by his own Dark Lord was another matter entirely.
Harry clenched his fists.
"Can you find them?"
Arthur looked at him steadily.
"And what would you do if I could?"
"I’ll avenge him."
Before Arthur could answer, Sirius intervened.
"Harry. Don’t let hatred consu you."
Arthur nodded.
"And you’re assuming it would only be three people."
Harry frowned.
"What do you an?"
Arthur asked quietly:
"Where did Sirius say Bellatrix should have been?"
"...Azkaban."
Realization dawned.
"You think... they escaped?"
Arthur’s tone remained level.
"Think bigger."
"What if Azkaban is empty?"
Harry went pale.
Arthur already knew.
When Voldemort had raided the prison, the two Dentors secretly bound to Arthur had relayed everything.
The prison now stood vacant.
Not a rat left behind.
An empty island fortress.
Voldemort hadn’t just rescued a handful.
He had emptied the board.
Harry slowly understood the scale of what that ant.
This wasn’t revenge against three enemies.
This was war.
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