The following morning, Hogwarts awoke to another storm.
As the first rays of sunlight spilled across the castle's ancient towers, owls began streaming through the enchanted windows of the Great Hall in unprecedented numbers. Their wings filled the air with a constant rustle as they swooped between floating candles, dropping copies of the Daily Prophet onto breakfast tables throughout the hall. Newspapers landed beside steaming bowls of porridge, bounced off stacks of toast, and fluttered into the waiting hands of eager students.
Normally, only a handful of older students bothered reading the morning edition before classes. Most preferred to eat first and catch up on the news later.
Today was different.
The appearance of Lord Voldemort inside the Ministry of Magic had shattered nearly a year of official lies. Every witch and wizard in Britain wanted to know what had happened after the battle in the Department of Mysteries.
The usual cheerful conversations that accompanied breakfast had been replaced by anxious whispers and hurried speculation.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione caught a newspaper before it could land squarely in her bowl of porridge.
Ron leaned across the table before she had even unfolded it.
"What now?"
Hermione spread the paper open, and the color drained slightly from her face.
"Oh..."
Neville immediately looked up from his breakfast.
"What is it?"
Without answering, Hermione turned the front page so that Ron and Neville could read it.
Stretching across the top of the page in enormous black letters was a headline impossible to ignore.
MINISTER FACES VOTE OF NO CONFIDENCE
Beneath the headline, a moving photograph showed an exhausted Cornelius Fudge leaving the Ministry. His robes were wrinkled, his expression haggard, and flashes from enchanted cameras burst continuously around him as reporters fought to ask questions. Ministry officials attempted to shield him from the crowd, but the Minister looked like a man already overwhelmed by events beyond his control.
Hermione immediately began reading.
"The Ministry has officially confirmed the identities of several captured Death Eaters..."
Hermione scanned the next few paragraphs before anyone could interpret her.
"Worse than I expected."
She looked up.
"They've named several of the captured Death Eaters."
Neville frowned.
"So?"
"So some of them belong to very influential pure-blood families."
"There are wealthy landowners... Ministry officials... businessmen... even someone who served on one of the Ministry's advisory councils."
Around them, students at nearby tables were having much the same reaction.
The Great Hall buzzed with nervous conversation.
Hermione continued reading aloud.
"Most of those arrested have immediately claimed they were acting under the Imperius Curse."
Ron groaned loudly.
"Oh, not that excuse again."
"Apparently so."
Hermione's eyes continued moving across the article.
"It says Minister Fudge was prepared to consider several of those claims pending further investigation."
Neville looked genuinely confused.
"After everything that's happened?"
"So it seems."
She read another paragraph.
"But someone challenged it."
Ron blinked.
"Who?"
Hermione shook her head.
"It doesn't say."
Instead, she read the next sentence aloud.
"A formal Vote of No Confidence has been filed against Minister Cornelius Fudge before the Wizengamot. The hearing is scheduled to take place one week from today."
Ron stared.
"They're trying to remove him?"
Hermione nodded slowly.
"It appears so."
The article went on to explain that numerous members of the Wizengamot believed Fudge had proven himself unfit to lead magical Britain during a time of growing crisis. Some accused him of ignoring repeated warnings about Voldemort's return.
Others criticized his treatment of those who had spoken the truth over the past year. Several openly questioned whether a Minister who had nearly released captured Death Eaters under the excuse of the Imperius Curse could still be trusted to govern the country.
Political pressure had finally reached its breaking point.
Throughout the Great Hall, professors quietly read identical articles.
Professor McGonagall lowered her newspaper, her expression impossible to read.
Professor Flitwick sighed quietly and rubbed his forehead.
Professor Sprout looked genuinely saddened by what she was reading.
Only Professor Snape appeared entirely indifferent as he calmly buttered a piece of toast, seemingly unconcerned by the political turmoil unfolding around him.
A few moments later the doors of the Great Hall opened again.
Rose Potter stepped inside.
Heads turned.
Whispers spread.
Students who had never spoken to her before openly stared.
Some looked at her with admiration.
Others with sympathy.
Yet there was another expression she noticed more than any other.
Expectation.
She disliked that one the most.
Trying to ignore the attention, Rose walked calmly toward the Gryffindor table.
Hermione immediately slid the newspaper across to her.
"You should read this."
Rose accepted it without a word and quickly scanned the front page.
A faint, humorless smile appeared.
"So..."
She folded the top corner slightly.
"The Ministry is finally falling apart."
Hermione gave a helpless shrug.
"It certainly looks that way."
Rose continued reading.
Most of the information merely confirmed what she already knew.
The Ministry had admitted Voldemort's return.
Captured Death Eaters had been identified.
The Wizengamot would soon decide Fudge's political future.
None of that surprised her.
Then she turned another page. Halfway through the second page her eyes stopped moving. Her expression changed instantly.
Hermione noticed.
"What is it?"
Rose silently rotated the newspaper so the others could see.
A smaller headline immediately caught their attention.
DEATH EATERS CONFESS OBJECTIVE INSIDE MINISTRY
Hermione leaned closer while Ron read over her shoulder.
The article summarized the first interrogations of the captured Death Eaters.
Several had admitted that Lord Voldemort himself had personally led the assault on the Department of Mysteries.
Several also confessed that their objective had been a prophecy.
A prophecy belonging to Voldemort.
Then Hermione reached one particular paragraph.
Her eyes widened.
Multiple detained Death Eaters independently confirmed that Rose Potter was present inside the Department of Mysteries during the confrontation. Several admitted engaging her directly in combat before Ministry reinforcements arrived.
Ron nearly dropped his toast.
"What?!"
Neville looked from the article to Rose in disbelief.
"You were there?"
Rose folded the newspaper closed.
"They've only confirmed that I was."
Ron scratched the back of his head.
"A prophecy..."
His eyes slowly widened.
He looked between Hermione and Rose.
"Does that mean...?"
Hermione quietly finished the thought he couldn't quite bring himself to say.
"People are going to assume the prophecy was about Rose."
None of them needed to explain further.
The conclusion was obvious.
Across the Great Hall, students had already reached exactly the same one.
The whispers grew noticeably louder.
Rose stared down at the folded newspaper in her hands. She no longer needed to hear the conversations around her. She already knew what everyone was thinking.
At the Slytherin table, Helios quietly observed the changing atmosphere. He had finished reading his own newspaper several minutes earlier. Nothing printed within its pages surprised him.
If anything, he was impressed by how much information the Ministry had successfully managed to suppress.
Only enough truth to satisfy the public while concealing everything that truly mattered.
His attention returned to Rose.
She answered Hermione's questions. She smiled weakly at one of Ron's attempts to lighten the mood. She even managed a quiet laugh when Neville accidentally knocked over his pumpkin juice.
To anyone else, she appeared almost normal.
Helios noticed the details everyone else missed.
The slight stiffness in her shoulders.
The way her fingers unconsciously tightened around the edge of the newspaper.
The brief hesitation every time another student looked in her direction.
She felt it.
The expectations.
The invisible burden that came from becoming a symbol rather than simply a person.
He remembered carrying that same burden once.
He remembered how each passing year had made it heavier.
The atmosphere inside Hogwarts changed almost overnight.
For nearly a year, fear had existed only in whispers.
Students had spoken in hushed voices behind closed dormitory doors. Parents had written reassuring letters insisting that everything would be all right. The Daily Prophet had dismissed every strange disappearance, every unexplained attack, and every rumor of Death Eaters as nothing more than isolated incidents or exaggerated gossip.
The Ministry had woven lie after lie until much of magical Britain had chosen to believe them.
Now that illusion had shattered beyond repair.
Lord Voldemort had appeared inside the Ministry of Magic itself.
There would be no more denials.
And Helios knew exactly what that meant.
He walked through Hogwarts' ancient corridors with measured steps, his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his robes. Around him, students hurried between classrooms, yet the usual noise of castle life felt strangely subdued. Conversations stopped whenever someone mentioned the Ministry. Owls carrying fresh newspapers continued arriving throughout the morning, and nearly every group of students seemed to be discussing the same topic.
Voldemort.
Helios paid little attention to their conversations.
His own thoughts were occupied elsewhere.
The restraint is over.
For months Voldemort had hidden himself carefully. Every attack had been designed so that no undeniable proof remained behind. Witnesses disappeared before they could speak. Evidence vanished. Whenever questions arose, the Ministry found another explanation.
That careful game was finished.
Now Voldemort no longer needed secrecy.
Soon his followers would stop hiding in the shadows.
Attacks would happen openly.
Broad daylight.
Crowded streets.
Entire Muggle towns.
Muggle-born households.
Anyone foolish enough to oppose him.
Helios could already see the coming months unfolding in his mind.
Burned homes.
Mass funerals.
He closed his eyes briefly.
The Order won't be enough.
It was an unpleasant truth, but truth nonetheless.
The Order of the Phoenix was courageous. Every member would willingly lay down their life protecting innocent people. But courage did not create numbers. There were simply too few of them.
Britain contained thousands of magical families spread across villages, towns, and isolated estates. Beyond that existed millions of Muggles completely unaware of the war about to engulf them.
The Order could never guard them all.
They could barely protect one another.
Which meant...
Many innocent people were about to die.
There was no avoiding it.
The realization no longer filled Helios with despair.
He had accepted long ago that some battles could not be won perfectly.
Lost in thought, he descended the final staircase leading toward the Slytherin dungeons.
The moment the heavy stone entrance swung open, he immediately noticed the change.
The common room no longer felt united. Students who had once mingled freely now kept to separate groups. The sofas nearest the fire were occupied almost entirely by older pure-blood students.
Another circle had gathered beside the windows overlooking the Black Lake.
Several younger students lingered uncertainly between them, clearly unsure where they belonged.
Conversations quieted whenever someone from another group passed nearby.
Near the fireplace, an argument was already underway.
"What do you mean you're not joining?"
A seventh-year boy stood with his arms crossed, his voice carrying easily through the room.
"We finally have a chance to restore proper traditions."
The student opposite him folded his own arms.
"I'd rather serve my own family than another man's."
Another voice joined immediately.
"Aren't you forgetting who that 'another man' is?"
"The Dark Lord."
"The heir of Salazar Slytherin's ideals."
A sharp laugh answered him.
"The heir?"
The older student shook his head.
"You mean Tom Riddle?"
Several nearby students glanced around nervously.
The first speaker's face darkened.
"Watch your tongue."
"No."
The older boy didn't back down.
"My grandfather confirmed it himself."
"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"Half-blood."
"The son of a Muggle."
He looked around the room.
"And you expect House Selwyn to kneel before someone whose father wasn't even magical?"
Several students exchanged uncertain glances.
One sixth-year nodded slowly.
"My father said the same thing."
"So did mine."
"The Dark Lord may be powerful..."
"...but he isn't pure-blood."
"Our family's been noble for nearly seven hundred years."
"I'm not swearing loyalty to someone who doesn't even meet his own standards."
Murmurs of agreement spread through that side of the room.
Others looked positively furious.
One younger student slammed a book shut.
"Blood doesn't matter if someone has power."
Another answered immediately.
"It matters to our families."
The argument threatened to grow louder.
Helios walked past them without slowing.
No one attempted to involve him.
His reputation within Slytherin had changed considerably over the past several weeks. Even those who disliked him chose their words carefully.
He crossed the common room and lowered himself into one of the deep leather chairs near the fire.
Without appearing to watch, he quietly studied everyone around him.
The house was dividing exactly as he had predicted.
Many Slytherins admired strength above all else.
Others admired blood.
For years Voldemort had convinced people those ideals walked hand in hand.
Now reality had exposed the contradiction.
Many ancient families simply could not bring themselves to kneel before someone they privately considered beneath them.
Ironically...
The greatest obstacle to Voldemort's recruitment was not Dumbledore.
Nor the Ministry.
It was centuries of pure-blood arrogance.
Sometimes prejudice destroyed itself.
His thoughts were interrupted by hesitant footsteps.
Someone stopped beside his chair.
"Black..."
He looked up.
Draco Malfoy stood there.
Dark circles rested beneath his grey eyes, and although his uniform remained perfectly pressed—as someone from House Malfoy undoubtedly expected—something had changed.
The familiar arrogance was gone.
So was the easy confidence with which Draco usually carried himself.
Instead...
He looked frightened. Helios gestured toward the empty chair opposite him.
For several moments neither of them spoke.
The crackling fireplace filled the silence between them while the distant argument continued elsewhere in the common room.
Finally Helios broke the silence.
"What do you need?"
Draco glanced around carefully before leaning forward.
His voice dropped almost to a whisper.
"I need your help."
Helios simply waited.
"I..."
He looked down at his hands.
"I don't want to join him."
Helios regarded him steadily.
"The Dark Lord?"
Draco nodded once.
"I don't want to become one of them."
For the first time in either of Helios's lives, he saw genuine fear in Draco Malfoy's eyes.
"What changed?" Helios asked quietly.
Draco let out a hollow laugh.
"What changed?"
He reached inside his robes and carefully removed a folded letter.
The parchment was already worn along its edges from being opened so many times.
"My mother wrote to me."
He rested the letter on the table between them.
"I've read it at least twenty times."
Helios accepted the parchment but made no attempt to unfold it.
Draco continued speaking.
"She told me everything."
His voice trembled slightly.
"About Malfoy Manor."
"About what happened while the Dark Lord stayed there."
He stared into the flames.
"I always believed Father respected him."
"I thought serving him was an honor."
His laugh held no humor.
"It wasn't."
"He was terrified."
"So was Mother."
Draco fell silent for several seconds before continuing.
"He tortured people."
"...for nothing."
Helios remained quiet.
"If dinner arrived late..."
"...someone screamed."
"If an answer wasn't quick enough..."
"...someone screamed."
"If he happened to be angry..."
"...someone screamed."
Draco closed his eyes.
"I used to hear it from the east wing."
"I convinced myself they were prisoners."
His voice became almost inaudible.
"They weren't always prisoners."
Helios already knew.
Narcissa had likely spared her son many of the worst details.
"My mother begged me."
Draco's fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.
"She told me never to accept the Dark Mark."
"Not under any circumstances."
Helios nodded slowly.
"Lady Malfoy is wiser than most people realize."
Draco looked up hopefully.
"So..."
"Will you help me?"
"How?"
Draco hesitated.
"...your father is Lord Black."
Helios nodded.
"Our families are related."
"My mother was born a Black."
Draco took a deep breath.
"If my family refuses the Dark Lord..."
"He won't forgive us."
He lowered his head.
"But I..."
"I don't want that life."
When he looked back up, there was no trace of pride left.
Only desperation.
"I need protection."
"If I simply refuse..."
"...I'll die."
Helios studied him for a long moment.
Across the room the argument about blood purity had grown louder, yet neither of them paid it any attention.
"You want me to speak with my father ."
"Yes."
"You believe House Black can protect you and your mother?"
Draco nodded immediately.
"If anyone can..."
"...it's Lord Black."
"My mother told me the Blacks once protected every cadet branch of the family."
He managed a faint smile.
"I know we're not one."
"But..."
His shoulders slumped.
"...please."
The plea hung between them.
"I'll speak to my father."
The relief that crossed Draco's face was immediate.
His shoulders relaxed for the first time since sitting down.
"If House Black shelters you..."
"...then House Black comes first."
Draco answered before Helios had even finished.
"I agree."
Helios gave a single nod before turning toward the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories.
Behind him, Draco remained seated before the fire.
Around him, Slytherin House continued arguing over bloodlines, loyalty, and the future.