#rpg post

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// This is my RPG Post as Hans; translated to English - also why does ist "sound" better in german urg //

Context: After KCD2 Henry&Hans visit Skalitz. Henry to rebuild it - Hans because Henry offered he could join also Henry left after Hans kiss (because pain is good, right?)

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Bloodshot eyes slowly opened in the rising light of the morning sun as Hans let out a quiet groan. What he wouldn’t give for just a few hours of restful sleep, yet far too many thoughts had kept him awake through the night. Skalitz was different from what he had imagined. Or perhaps it had simply been Henry’s bleak descriptions that had created a certain picture in his mind - One that did not match what they had found here. At least the castle's stone walls had survived, though stonemasons and carpenters had been working for days to repair the remaining damage. In his tent, Hans longed for a real bed in a real room, but many parts of the castle were still uninhabitable —so a makeshift camp had been set up for the lords. Still, it was a better situation than what the workers had to "endure".

Yet the blond-haired man wondered if accepting the offer had been a mistake. On one hand, he had no desire to return to Rattay —not right now, at least— but on the other, the distance that had grown between him and Henry in recent days felt greater here than anywhere else. But it wasn’t just his heart that kept him awake. It was the dreams — dreams of arrows, of screams and pain, of gnawing hunger, and of those damned bells tolling.

With a sigh, the young lord squeezed his eyes shut before sitting up, pausing for a moment in a hunched posture on his makeshift bed. At least Hanush had sent some workers and supplies in the past few days to speed up the repairs in Skalitz — perhaps Hans had something to do with it, though he had not spoken of it. Another oddity, just like the fact that he was avoiding everyone he possibly could at the moment.

Yesterday, however, when he had returned from a ride, Zizka had intercepted him and dragged him to the improvised tavern below the castle, where Katherine had wordlessly placed a plate of food and a cup of wine in front of him. Even though he hadn’t felt like eating, he had let Zizka distract him, and shortly before midnight, he had stumbled back to his tent in a clearly unsteady state. Unfortunately, even alcohol couldn’t chase his dreams away.

Wasting few thoughts on the previous evening, Hans slid out of bed and grabbed his clothes from the chest to his right before dressing. Just as he pulled his red hood over his head, his stomach made itself known. Well, it was still early. Far too early by Hans’ standards. Oh, how he longed for long, restful sleep. But as his stomach growled once more so he shook off his thoughts and made his way toward the supply tent. Even though there was a cooking station not far from his own tent, he didn’t want to wait for a servant to pass by—nor did he want to risk sitting at a table with Radzig and getting caught in a conversation about his future.

If he had to hear one more time how happy everyone was that he would soon be married and how wonderful the whole thing was, he would gladly hang himself —No bells, no executioner needed.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known this would happen eventually, but he had thought he still had time… Time for adventure, for glory and honor, time with… Lost in thought, his feet carried him toward the supply tent while the cool morning air sent a slight shiver down his spine. Everything was quiet and peaceful, yet he couldn’t bring himself to feel at ease. By the time he arrived, he was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice he wasn’t the only one awake this early.

With tunnel vision, Hans entered the tent, searching for a loaf of bread, some sausage, and cheese. It didn’t take long before he found what he needed and stepped back outside. As he looked up, considering whether to return to his tent, he spotted Henry sitting on one of the tree stumps in the center of the camp. For a moment, Hans weighed his chances of slipping away unnoticed, but that decision was taken from him by an excited, foolish Mutt that had turned his body toward him, barking happily and wagging his tail.

Cursing inwardly, Hans’ gaze flicked toward Henry, and before he could lose his nerve, he said in a rough voice, “Good morning. Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”

Unhinged laughter filled the corridors of Hogwarts, along with blasts from a wand that was far too capable and skilled at the Unforgivable Curses. Dainty feet in heeled shoes danced along the famed hallways, the heavier sounds of boots following behind her. There was no need to hide her face. Everyone knew her and they knew her alliance. They knew she'd done terrible things and she relished in each and every single one. Her years in Azkaban were spoken of as a child might speak of a playground. Her name was spoken with fear and disgust, by some. And with reverence by others.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

"For The Dark Lord!!" She screeched, almost girlish giggles escaping her, a twisted grin settling on her face. Turning in a circle, her black skirt twirling about her legs and her unkempt chocolate stresses bounced with every step. Her dark brown eyes were alight with mischief and the joy of trouble. The idea that she might be scaring children didn't put her off in the least.

Nodding her head, she motioned to the doors of the Great Hall. The Death Eaters charged forward, wands pointed and the large wooden doors burst open, unable to resist the multiple blasts. Charging ahead, the witch recalled for a brief moment, her years at the Slytherin table. Settled in with her sisters, and the other Purebloods. Always a hellion, she had always been proud of being a Black, but didn't feel she quite fit in with them. Narcissa was the perfect daughter. Andromeda was...different. Bellatrix huffed as she thought of the youngest Black sister. Where had the family gone wrong with her? Marrying that mudblood Tonks.

An anguished yell left the deranged witch as she pointed towards a bench and destroyed it, the memory of the sisters being vanquished. She had no need of that. The past was in the past. Cissy was married to Malfoy, whom Bellatrix viewed as weak and pompous, likely to turn on anyone if it would save his own skin. She had never liked his snivilling and fake airs of importance. He was rich and pureblood. But he would never be like those who had come from The Most Noble House of Black.

"Rodolphus!" She sneered, settling her gaze on her husband as he removed his mask, watching the chaos unfold. "Make yourself useful. Find someone for me to play with," she finished, her tone leaving no room for it to be misinterpreted. She wanted to duel, to fight, to kill. If Rodolphus had any objection, he was wise enough to not voice them. Knowing full well that at this point, Bellatrix was wild enough to turn her wand on him as well. With Voldemort at full strength, his goals attainable and in reach, Bella was far too thirsty on power and the possibility of what may lie ahead. Her life was inextricably bound to the Lord formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle.

All for him. The Dark Lord was everything to Bellatrix. Even her husband knew this. But he also appreciated that her obsessive loyalty was what was keeping them in such high regard. The few occasions that Bellatrix had failed, it had been her obsession and devotion to his cause that had kept her from being killed. Rodolphus turned and focused on the task, knowing he would find staff and students attempting to save their home. Because Hogwarts was not only a school, but a home to them. However he felt about it, he kept to himself. He suspected that Narcissa did the same, but put on an act to keep safe.

"Disgraceful," she snarled, blocking yet another attack, looking through the students for Harry Potter, but also for her nephew, Draco. Despite what many thought, Bellatrix did care very much for the boy, and she knew that if a bit of harm came to him, Narcissa's heartbreak would doom them all. She'd never felt that love of children. But she would surely avenge or maim anyone who hurt dearest Draco. He was a bit like his father, unfortunately, but perhaps there would be hope for him yet. The white blonde hair didn't pop in the crowds and thus, Bellatrix continued to focus on the others. Reminding herself that this was all for him. For The Dark Lord. The thought of him made her heart skip a beat. Perhaps it was madness, but she truly did love him. He did not feel the same for her, but Bellatrix had dedicated her life to him.

Whatever happened today, she hoped that he knew, she did it all for his glory and his power. When he took over--and he simply had to--she would be at his right hand, she knew this. Her place was beside him, to be sure. Turning sharply, Bellatrix's smile twisted upwards as several of her knives landed into the flesh of a few who were determined to be the ones to take her down. Stupid children. Now, they were dead. Skipping towards them, she looked down at them and plucked her knives out of their bodies. Gryffindors. Not surprising. "Idiots," she snarled before looking over the beautiful chaos of it all. Pointing upwards, a spark shot out from her wand. Time seemed to have suddenly stopped as eyes all follow the shot. A moment later, the sky darkened and a large Dark Mark appeared in the sky. Gasps and yells filled the air, along with a renewed need of beating Voldemort's crew. Bellatrix only laughed.

So you may or may not be asking

‘If bowser jr was in a rpg game... what would his stats be?’

And this is what I got!

What do you think?

(Yet another shindanmaker post lol)

(Link: https://en.shindanmaker.com/903917)

In the Department of Mysteries in Harry’s fifth year, when coming to aid his godson in the battle against the Death Eaters, Sirius gets knocked down unconcious. When he wakes up, the Ministry officials have appeared and they assume Sirius was there to fight for the Dark Lord. Naturally, they arrest him immediately. And since they need a trophy after this disastrous incident, they decide to give him the Dementor’s Kiss soon after. After spending some time in Azkaban re-living his old nightmares, he gets a visitor. 

The sound of footsteps approaching woke him up from a light doze. Yes, food! he thought, since food was always brought by a human - contrary to two years ago, when dementors were the only guards in the prison (maybe they didn’t completely trust them anymore) - and dementors didn’t have footsteps. But when he sat himself up in his tiny prison cell and listened more closely, he identified two sets of footsteps. Maybe even more. Sirius guessed the delivery of a large banquet probably wouldn’t be the case - unfortunately - so something else must be going on. Maybe a new prisoner? Or were they letting someone out? ‘Cell 311, sir,’ a young squeeky voice said down the hallway. It was the young guard that had brought him food the day before. He was accompanied by someone who only responded with a muffled “Hm”. Sirius moved his head closer to the bars of his cell to try and see who was doing them a pleasure of visiting. “Them” meaning the prisoners, who generally preferred a visit from any human life form with a sane mind gladly over the soul sucking creatures who usually visited them. Ministry people visiting usually meant the dementors would be gone for a while, which was always a pleasant change. In front of Sirius’ cell bars appeared a small group of wizards. Dorian was accompanied by a very familiar face; Cornelius Fudge. With him were three very tall and broad looking men, carrying their wands in a defensive manner, and some pencil pusher carrying a clipboard. Something serious was happening here, that was for sure. Somewhat to Sirius’ surprise the guard, Fudge, and his four men army halted at his cell. Apparently he was the one in cell number 311? Sirius had never bothered to take a look at his cell number. Being a number himself had been bad enough. What was the Minister for Magic doing here? It wasn’t friday already, wasn’t it? Had he miscalculated the days? (The day of his execution would really be the worst deadline ever to misplace in his agenda.) ‘Merlins beard, we can’t show him to the public like this,’ Fudge said with a look of repulsion on his face. ‘We’ll have to clean him up in London.’  ‘I agree, sir,’ the pencil pusher replied, making a note of it. What, London? What was he talking about? Why would he have to be cleaned up and moved to London? Then it dawned upon him: they were going to make this a public thing… ‘Are you giving me my own show, Cornelius?’ Sirius said teasingly but sharply, his voice coarse from not speaking for such a long time. The young guard made a little startled movement, as if scared by the sudden noise from the cell that had been silent most of his shifts. Fudge seemed a little taken aback too, but quickly got himself together and faced Sirius with an unpleasant political smile. ‘Ah, I see you are as attentive as usual, Black,’ he responded. ‘Well, let us just say you might be what the public needs right now. Your death I mean, of course.’ So that was their play. A public execution to show the wizarding community what a great minister Fudge was. ‘And I guess you want me to look extra nice for “the people”, right? Wouldn’t want anyone to suspect anything about how you run this place, wouldn’t you?’ Sirius replied, sitting himself a bit more upright against the wall. Fudge didn’t respond to Sirius’ question, but turned towards the guard: ‘Make sure he is ready for transportation in fifteen minutes.’ And then to the pencil pusher: ‘See to it that you make note of everything that happens.’ He paused for a second. ‘Everything we would like the people to know.’ Fudge gave Sirius one last demeaning look and then vanished into the hallway, leaving his people behind. 

‘So, what are your plans concerning transportation?’ the young guard asked the group of armed aurors hesitantly. ‘Broom,’ one of the aurors answered. ‘Williamson will take the prisoner and we’ll form a convoy. We’ve taken the appropriate measures.’ Measures Sirius obviously wasn’t supposed to know. But now he did know he had to survive a broomflight over the North Sea that probably would last several hours. He knew that was the regular way to visit the prison, since the place was unplottable and not connected to the floo network. But Sirius had hoped he could have travelled by apparition. Well, maybe he would just fall of his broom and have an easy death. It sure would beat being publicly robbed of his soul at the Ministry. His cell door opened and the three men entered the small space in which he had been living the past few months. They grabbed him by his skinny arms and dragged him up. He’d been fasting the past weeks, trying to get thin enough to squeeze himself through the bars of his cell. He realised he really was an idiot sometimes. His legs could barely hold his own weight anymore. ‘Just… Be careful,’ the young guard said. ‘He hasn’t eaten in about a week. I don’t know how well he would survive such a long flight.’ Sirius didn’t know if the boy was actually being concerned with his welfare or if he was just afraid of what Fudge might do if his trophy would die on the way to the exposition. Either way, the aurors seemed to agree with the young guard and loosened their firm grip on his arms a bit. Unfortunately they still made him wear those awful heavy shackles around his wrists. They left the cell, dragging Sirius with them, and left the young guard behind. Sirius gave the boy one last glance and then just let his head hang. So this was it. He was either going to die of exhaustion on his way to London or have his soul sucked out on arrival. Neither was anything he would want. He wanted a warm bed. Some food. Someone to tell him it would be alright. Someone to tell him he was safe and he’d never have to be locked up again. Anywhere. Ever. Even though they’d left the area where the dementor’s roamed, Sirius still felt empty inside. Almost numb, if it wasn’t for the gnawing feeling in his stomach and the heavy irons cutting his wrists. They entered a room with almost no furniture, apart from a rack with several broomsticks on it, all marked with the Ministry’s logo. They were all secured to the rack with chains, so no escaped prisoner could grab one and take off with it. Every auror took a broom and unchained it with their wands. Then Sirius was set upon a broom which had two seats; his seat facing backwards. They shackled his feet now too, and tied the chains firmly to the broom using a binding spell. ‘Why do you even bother?’ Sirius asked. ‘It’s not like I can run off or something. I might fall of though.’ He mustered up a grin, but the aurors only responded by putting a linen bag over his head. Great, now he wouldn’t even be able to enjoy the ocean view. When in the air, a cold wind gave Sirius’ skin a burning sensation. But nevertheless, he could still feel that the sun was shining, even though he could not see a thing. Being sat backwards on the broom, he was able to rest his back against the back of the auror riding the broom. The chap sure didn’t like it; he tried to push Sirius away a few times. But eventually he gave up and just let his prisoner enjoy a semi-comfortable backrest. Sirius had never known how long the flight from Azkaban to main land had taken - technically he’d only ever flown the other way, two times - but it felt like hours. Being away from all the dementors and the constant reminder of his false imprisonment he was able to feel a tiny bit of hope. Hope that maybe the aurors were new members of the Order he hadn’t met yet and they were flying him to the Burrow. Hope that maybe Moody, Tonks and Remus would come to rescue him in mid-air. But no such thing happened, and eventually all hope faded again when he heard the sound of the city and then felt solid terrain beneath his shackled feet. It was nice to hear clear human voices again though. Even when they were shouting orders like “tighten those chains, I don’t want him escaping again” and “Gallopin’ gorgons, he smells terrible. Did you have to put up with that the whole journey?”. Yeah, because a bad smell was so much worse than being wrongfully imprisoned, being held in the worst place on earth for the second time in a lifetime and having your soul sucked out in only two days. But of course they didn’t know they were doing this to an innocent man. Or they just didn’t want to know. ‘Get him inside,’ the voice who’d been complaining about the smell said. ‘And don’t take off the bag until I’ve joined you.’ He was being grabbed by his arms again and guided to another location. Some secret Ministry building, he guessed by the long way he had to walk and the many stairs they had to take. Every once in a while the sound of a lock opening and then closing again sounded. And then Sirius was pushed into a hard wooden chair of some sorts. His shackles were removed, but quickly replaced by manacles that kept his arms and feet tight against the chair. He sat there for a few minutes. Maybe alone, maybe with some very stealthy aurors guarding him. He didn’t know, because that bloody itching bag was still over his head. He wanted to say something witty to evoke a response from any possible life forms that were with him, but he couldn’t come up with anything to say. So he just kept silent until eventually a voice called his name. 

‘Sirius Black,’ it said. ‘I expected you to be… well, more. There’s hardly anything of you left. But I’m here to fix that. Let’s see what we’ve got.’ Footsteps sounded and in a swift movement the bag covering his head was pulled away. The sudden light blinded his eyes and for a moment he could only see light and dark shapes floating around him. Slowly things became clearer: He was in a room made of stone with no windows. Surrounding him were three guards that didn’t seem familiar. And in front of him stood a tall and skinny man with short blonde hair, wearing light grey robes. He wasn’t a guard for sure, but not an official of great significance either. Or Sirius would probably have recognised him. ‘So you’re here to make me pretty?’ Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow. ‘Good luck with that.’ The man laughed with a shrill, high pitched voice. ‘Oh no, not pretty. I’m here to make you look like you’ve suffered just enough but are still a very dangerous man. The suffering part you did great on yourself,’ he said, pinching in one of Sirius’ cheeks as if he was a fat aunt measuring his cuteness. ‘But you don’t look very dangerous anymore. It’s a shame.’ He supposed he didn’t look very dangerous indeed. He had never considered himself to look dangerous. Angry maybe. But he had every right to be. Now he just felt tired. And probably looked that way too. With a whip of his wand, the man changed Sirius’ ragged old prison robes to a set of slightly newer ones, but darker in colour. The man mumbled something and Sirius felt his cheeks glow a bit. Apparently rosy cheeks were the new dangerous? Or maybe it was just to make it look like he was more alive than he actually was. Then the man started tucking on his hair. It was like he was going to a beauty salon. A very uncomfortable beauty salon, though. But that was kind of how Sirius had always imagined beauty salons to be. Suddenly there was a short knock on the heavily guarded door and a moment later it swung open, revealing Fudge who had been standing behind it. ‘Ah, I see you have already started. Excellent. Just make sure all the spells last until friday,’ Fudge said to the beautician chap, who seemed now to be examining the tattoo’s and scars on Sirius’ upper body. ‘Yes, of course Minister,’ the blonde man replied with an almost slimy voice. The beautician was clearly an arse-kisser.  ‘I assume everything else has been arranged?’ Fudge continued, looking at the guards. They nodded and answered with a “yes sir”. ‘Good, good…’ the Minister said, while inspecting Sirius with his gaze. ‘I’ll see you friday, then,’ he then said, turning to the beautician. He then walked back towards the door, straightening his jacket. When stepping over the doorstep, he suddenly stopped as he had forgotten something. As he had turned around again he took a quick look at Sirius’ head and then said: ‘Oh, and could you cut his hair? I’d like for everyone to see his face when it happens.’ The bastard. Like he hadn’t taken enough from him yet. As Fudge closed the door behind him, Sirius clenched his fists in anger. He wasn’t very vain when it came to his looks - he had had the luck to be quite handsome when he’d been younger - but his hair was something he had always liked about himself. Maybe because not every boy or man could pull off longer hair like he could. Maybe because it showed he wasn’t someone you could just dress up and cut like everyone else. Or maybe because it was very convenient when he wanted to hide his face from the world when he was angry or sad. Either way, it was his hair, and Fudge shouldn’t have any say in it with what haircut he was going to leave this world. But apparently he did. And apparently it was going to be short. And short it was. About fifteen minutes later Sirius was alone in a dark cell with only an inch or so of hair left on his head. They had given him a meal and he had gobbled it down like a hungry stray dog. (Technically he actually was a hungry stray dog.) He hadn’t seen daylight in quite some time and there was no clock in here, so he didn’t have a clue how many hours there were left in the day. Nor how many hours he had left in his life. He would have liked to spend his last hours somewhere in the warm sun or at night by a fire, drinking a butterbeer with the people he loved. (Or even better, drinking an actual beer with the people he loved.) Thinking about Harry, Remus and Tonks and the little kid they were going to have, he also started thinking about what he would leave them with when he was gone. They could have Grimmauld place if they wanted, if it was still any use. And Sirius hoped he had given Harry some valuable life lessons to remember him by. (Like: “it’s not breaking the rules if you don’t get caught” and “you can always bribe Remus with 80% dark chocolate”.) As for Remus, he would be giving him a peaceful life with Tonks and their baby. No more annoying Padfoot having a potential bad influence on their offspring, no more whining about being cooped up in the Order’s headquarters. Because even though they had been very best friends throughout their lives, Sirius had to admit that he himself had been quite a pain in the arse sometimes. He just couldn’t help himself. That’s probably why he ended up being single, instead of being with the one he always considered his best relationship option. And it was probably why he was here in this cell, waiting to have his soul sucked out. In the end, all he would leave his loved ones was an empty shell that was once his body. And it wouldn’t even have nice hair.

The day had started off with Bellatrix having a row with her father Cygnus. She'd just been getting her bag ready so she could return back to Hogwarts for the remainder of her seventh and final year. She had known this wasn't going to go well, as Cygnus approached and wanted to speak to her alone. "I would like you to distance yourself from Rodolphus." "I beg your pardon?" "I am having second thoughts. The Lestrange name bound to ours...it would be seen as stepping down. He isn't fit for us. The family deserves better. Surely you see the issue, my dear." Bellatrix set her bag down, listening. The desire to laugh was strong. But she refrained from it as it wasn't a laughing matter. "It's always the 'family'. Never me. You don't give a proper shit what I want, do you? Well, I don't give a damn what's good for the family this time. I want what's good for me and I'm not going to distance myself." She didn't say she loved him. If she did, Cygnus would undoubtedly break them up. Those were words that were foreign to her father. If Cygnus and Druella were hit by the Hogwarts Express, she would not have cared. She imagined herself as the one pushing them in front of the speeding train if she was honest. But she did not speak of how she felt for Rodolphus, not to anyone, though Cissy had an idea. The words had barely escaped her mouth when his fists came at her. Bella's mind went elsewhere as she took the beating. She could very well have hexed him. She could have cast protego to shield herself. She was an excellent witch. She didn't need anyone to tell her this. She was confident in her abilities. However, to use said skills on her father would be a death warrant. And if she were thrown out, who would take the brunt of the hits for Andie and Cissa during the summer holiday? Instead, she simply thought of other things. Other places. The only motion she made was to look at her watch. "I have to get the train," she finally spoke, her sides and core aching. He would never mark her face and let everyone know he beat his daughters. Rather, Bella at the very least. Grunting under her breath, Bellatrix lifted her bag and apparated to King's Cross. Seeing Rodolphus there, she approached, leaving him unaware that she'd just received a fierce beating over him. Instead, she spoke of their match at Duelling Club later on that day with great enthusiasm. Later That Day: Stepping up onto the dais, Bellatrix grinned as Rodolphus joined her. Standing back to back, they took the requisite paces before turning around. Allowing him to send out the first spell, she easily blocked it, returning fire--quite literally--with incendio! Bellatrix was enjoying the duel until the pain in her sides began to really ache. She could manage. She'd have to. They were nearly done. A few more minutes and she'd finish Rodolphus off, and the next match would begin. But as she felt a stabbing pain, Bellatrix realised something was quite wrong. To the point where she didn't block or counter and Rodolphus's curse hit her squarely in her chest and belly, knocking her to the ground. The witch didn't even care that she was going to lose. There was something wrong with her. How could she say so though? Her father would have her head if she mentioned the beatings. The one time that she did, he'd said she was 'given to delusions for attention'.

He was untouchable, and she was suffering for it.

The room went silent as they all stared, wondering if she was going to get up. Her perfect record was broken. It seemed impossible to believe. Bellatrix attempted to push herself up, but the pain was excruciating and she could barely breathe. The silence was finally broken by the sound of heavy footfalls approaching her, and then with soft apologies as Rodolphus lifted her. "N-no…" She pleaded with him. "Shhh." She didn't have the energy to further protest, instead remaining silent as he began to carry her to the hospital wing. "Open the bloody doors," Rodolphus demanded of an awestruck second year. "Duelling Club is done for the day, obviously. Bellatrix is ill." As soon as the doors were open, he moved swiftly through the school, cursing at the moving sets of stairs and curious eyes falling upon them. Bella was indifferent to it all as she lay in his arms. Perhaps she'd die, and be past the irritation of living. As soon as the thought entered her head, she thought of her sisters and pushed it out.

"I need help please!" Rodolphus called as they entered the hospital wing. The nurse blinked before motioning to an open bed where he lay her down with great care. "What happened?"

"We were at duelling club, but there's something wrong. I hit her with a single blast, but that's nothing to her usually. "

Madame Coughlin, a strong Irish witch in a little frame, shook her head. "What curse?" "Just a single defensive blast from my wand." The young wizard replied, before leaning in to whisper something in her ear. Whatever he said brought two flushed spots to the nurse's ear and she brushed her hands over Bella's sides. As she did so, the young witch groaned. She could have screamed, but she held that back.

"I need the Skelegro. Miss Black, lay down!" Bellatrix grunted. She'd rather have broken ribs than a taste of the wretched stuff. She could smell it as the nurse opened it, making her ill. Any medicine that came out of a bottle steaming ought to be banned. Bellatrix felt Rodolphus take her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. He was trying to comfort her. He really was too good for her and her family. She sighed, opening her mouth and taking a sip, nearly spitting it out. It was the vilest thing and it burned going all the way down.

"You're safe here, Miss Black. Please rest," Madame Coughlin urged her. "Mr. Lestrange, you have to go now."

Rod looked down at her and Bella nodded. "Go take your victory lap," she murmured as the nurse gave her a sleeping draught.

When she awoke the following day, there were flowers from Cissa beside her on the table, and chocolate frogs from Andie. Beside her though, in a chair sat a tired Rodolphus.

"The winner!" she smirked, watching his face change as he registered that she was awake. Raising her hand to his lips, he shook his head. "No. You weren't in any condition to fight, my sweet Bella." "Take the win." "No. Now, what did you and your father fight about this time?" "I don't want to talk about this." "Bellatrix." His voice was soft, but firm. He wasn't going to let her off easily and she sighed.

"He said…he regretted putting us together. That….you aren't good enough for the Black family. I told him I didn't care what was good for the family and that you only had to be good enough for me." Bella's heavily lidded eyes fixed on his face. He had to know that he meant something to her now if she was brazen enough to state it to her father. "After he so eloquently told me what he thought about that…" She sighed. "It was time for me to get to King's Cross. I didn't realise how badly I was hurt. I've had broken ribs before. Madame Coughlin says I need another night in here, as she wants to make sure everything has healed up alright. At least I don't need more Skelegro."

Albus Dumbledore walked into Hogwarts looking…old. Behind him walked the trio--Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter, who were surrounded by their friends. It was a sober scene and it set Minerva on edge. She was rarely at a loss for words, and whatever they were discussing, she couldn't overhear. Words were softly whispered, and tears were streaming down their faces. Harry's face was stone. Resting her hand on his shoulder for a moment, she gave him a sympathetic look before following after Albus. She would talk to Harry--and any student who wished to speak--later. Whatever had occurred must have been horrific. She had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. However, she kept herself the portrait of calm.

"Albus?" Minerva spoke as she fell in line beside him, taking hold of his arm. The pair had been friends for many years by now. There was an intimacy between them that few understood or appreciated, a trust that had been built over the ups and downs that years brought. They walked together quietly, up the winding stairwell behind the large phoenix statue. As they entered his office, Fawkes let out a cry. "Hush you," Minerva remarked tersely. Normally she would give him a treat, but at the moment, it seemed there was much to discuss. Getting him settled into his chair, Minerva looked to a house elf that appeared. "Will you please bring the Headmaster some tea and something to eat?" she inquired. She'd never felt comfortable ordering them about. The elf snapped, disapparating. Tea always made heavy topics a little more tolerable.

"Minerva," his voice was raspy. Calm, but raspy. Looking at her over his half-moon glasses, his eyes wet from tears that threatened to fall. "I will begin by saying, tomorrow, everyone will know the truth." "What do you mean?" "Voldemort is, indeed, back. However, we have believed Harry when he's spoken of it. So the world will come to see what we have known. Minerva, I'm afraid what I'm about to say will hurt you." "Get on with it then, Albus." "Sirius Black is dead." "What-?" "He was duelling…" "Who did it?" "Bellatrix Lestrange."

The mad bitch had killed her own cousin. Minerva's blood boiled and she silently seethed. She had always been an excellent duellist, as was Sirius. But to kill her own… The world seemed to stop for a few moments. Everything went silent. The only thing she was certain that she could hear was the cracking of her heart. Of every student that she had ever had, Sirius Black had been the one who she had always loved dearly. The son she never had. Her eyes closed for a moment. Albus took hold of her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He knew she would not want to be fussed over a lot. But this was his way of acknowledging the deep pain she was feeling.

She recalled the first time she'd met him, as a wide-eyed little boy awaiting his turn to be sorted. She'd called his name out and he'd looked nervous as he sat on the bench. "It's alright," she had reassured him with a warm smile. "Wherever you end up is where you're meant to be." She'd been so delighted when the old wizened hat called out 'Gryffindor!' He had also looked pleased, whilst the Slytherin table had all looked at one another in awe and shock. The Black family was almost exclusively Slytherin. However, there was Sirius, who moved over to the Gryffindor table with a giant smile on his face. She recalled wondering if that was the first time he'd felt any real happiness. She was very familiar with that family and their ways. Narcissa had been one of her favourite students. Her eyes wandered over to her, and her face revealed nothing. But her eyes--dare she think that Narcissa was happy for her cousin?

Through his time at school, despite how dark things were swiftly becoming, seeing him always brought a smile to her lips. She couldn't get mad at him as he warmly winked at her and called her 'Minnie.' The cheeky sod. But for as much trouble as he got into--how many detentions he and James Potter had, she'd lost track--he was a genuinely good young man. Wise. Kind. Smart-alecky. He could rebound an insult almost as quickly as he could a curse. He was a duellist with a wand and words. When he'd confessed to her that he had become an animagi, she had endeavoured to really teach him about it, make him understand it. His form suited him, a big shaggy black dog. It had also saved him in Azkaban.

This wasn't to say he always pleased her--his torment of her now fellow professor, Severus Snape, had always earned him her ire. And when he and James had blown a poor student's head to twice its normal size for 'amusement's sake', she'd given him detention for a month and made him write two parchments length apology to the young man. But overall, he had matured and become an admirable man. When she'd heard he was sent to Azkaban, she hadn't wanted to believe it. Not her Sirius. Privately, she never lost faith in him.

After leaving the Headmaster's office, Minerva moved to her own chamber. Moving to the mantle, she looked at a photograph that had been sitting there for ages. It had been taken in Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks. She was mid-laugh with Sirius beside her with a wide grin on his face. James Potter sat to her left also laughing. The picture was even sadder now. She had never anticipated that she would outlive them both. She had known so much loss in her life now. The saddest part was that with this coming war--she would lose more. She had attended many funerals. Written hundreds of condolence letters. She had been the stoic figure in the back of the room, holding back her own tears so she could comfort others.

How many students wouldn't return to school? It was similar to the first war--but this was far more dangerous now. How many of them would sacrifice their lives for the greater good? Minerva's shoulders slumped as her tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. Her hand balled into a fist and she slammed it against the wall, her anguish at the entire situation overwhelming her. Turning from the photograph, she sighed. She hoped he would find the peace that he so desperately deserved. What she wouldn't give to hear him greet her one last time. "Evenin', Minnie! Where's the biscuits?"

But Minerva McGonagall wiped her tears. Tears did nothing. Action would be needed and if she could aid in that somehow, she certainly would.

In private, she would weep. In solitude, she would rage. For her students and Hogwarts, she would be brave. For Sirius and all of those who had died previously, she would fight. And for future generations--she would win.