The Sugar Quill
Author: Dark Princess  Story: Harry Potter and the End of All Things  Chapter: Chapter Two: A Dark Triumph
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Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. However, anything you do not recognize does belong to me.


Summary: This chapter takes place around three months after the events in Chapter One. The Wizarding World is in chaos, and darkness wins another victory. This chapter has been rated PG-13, due to descriptions of violence and horror.


Author’s Note: A big “Thank You” goes out to PirateQueen for being my beta, who helps correct my mistakes. Now, for your enjoyment, I present “A Dark Triumph,” the second chapter of Harry Potter and the End of All Things. 





Harry Potter

and the

End of All Things


Dark Princess



Chapter Two: A Dark Triumph



A little over three months had passed since Severus Snape came into Hogwarts on that cold and dreary night in mid-March, concealing numerous secrets from the headmaster. Since then, many things had changed in the Wizarding World, both at the esteemed school of magic and in the world at large. Albus Dumbledore, hailed as the greatest wizard in the world, the only person Lord Voldemort ever feared, was dead, killed by the very man he had claimed to trust so strongly.


Disagreements and fighting ran strong through the magical community’s blood, with witches and wizards being quick to accuse others of betrayal. Strangers were distrusted, and family members turned against each other. The Ministry, though trying desperately to hold the world together, was slowly losing the battle to keep the order in the community. Panic and lack of trust ran far too rampant for the Minister to control, experienced Auror though he was, and the government was slowly, but surely, caving in upon itself.


Witches and wizards cried out to the Ministry for relief. They pleaded for someone, anyone, to do something to stop the chaos. Britain’s Wizarding leaders and government officials were rarely seen in public, finding it much safer to keep themselves hidden from the desperate citizens. Everyone was desperately hoping things would get better soon.


But those hoping would be wrong. Things would only get worse, far worse, before they became any better.


On the first day of July, the darkness would strike. It would strike hard, and it would win.




He had been locked in this small and filthy stone cell for over a year now. His usually smooth, platinum blond hair was tangled and speckled with dirt, and ragged and dirty grey robes clothed his body, very much unlike the elegant black ones he had worn in the Ministry raid. The Aurors had surely destroyed those. He had also lost a fair amount of weight during his year of imprisonment. The food and nourishment in the stone fortress was not exactly up to par. With a heavy sigh, Lucius Malfoy rose from his position on the straw-covered floor and monotonously made his way to stand below the only window that looked out from the prison and offered him a view besides that of mouldy stone.


The outlook from the window was not much, even on clear nights, which this one was definitely not. Heavy and dark grey clouds covered the summer night sky, obstructing any light that the near-full moon would surely have given off if it had the chance. Still, the strong winds provided both a fresh breeze and a far better smell than what the prison had to offer. A harsh storm seemed imminent, which helped to improve Lucius’s sour mood a little. After so many days in his cell, Lucius had discovered the somewhat musical rhythm that came with the sound of the rain and sea waves pounding against the outside prison walls during a storm’s fury. The other event that occurred while Lucius stood below the barred window produced both a feeling of happiness and fear in the Death Eater. The Mark on his left arm had given a slight twinge, a twinge which quickly turned into an almost burning pain. Pain that intense could only mean one thing.


The Dark Lord was near. He was coming to Azkaban.




A tall figure stood atop a hill on the far eastern shore of the grey ocean, serenely overlooking the distant and lonely island while the harsh winds whipped his long black robes around his thin frame. On this island stood a single structure — a fortress, really — a large stone fortress with walls stretching twenty metres into the air. It was said to be impenetrable, incapable of being invaded and defeated. Massive waves were already crashing against the stone building’s outside walls, as if they wanted to push it down, but these waves would never be able to do any damage to it. The prison’s wards would not allow it. 


But powerful magic — his magic — could, and would, have the ability and the force needed to defeat the “impenetrable” fortress.


And he would be the one to do so.


Dementors stirred restlessly behind him as he continued to stare across the vast ocean waters at Azkaban. He knew they could already sense the emotions of the Aurors who were guarding his followers, the followers he had come here to free, and the soul-sucking creatures were finding it difficult to control their intense hunger.


“Master?” said the single figure standing to his left. The shorter woman was also dressed in black, causing her to blend into the night’s shadows like the dark and evil creatures that they both were. Though the tall figure heard the woman speak, he did not answer right away, preferring to let the silence grow thick and heavy around them. He found it was far too much fun to see his followers sweat and hesitate as he remained silent. Their fear was extremely intoxicating.


“The time is upon us, Bella,” he whispered, abruptly shifting his scarlet gaze from the distant island to the black-haired woman on his left. She raised her hooded head slightly, meeting his gaze like few others even dared to do. “Gather the other Death Eaters and Dementors. Tonight, we take Azkaban.”




The night of July 1st was Dana Walsh’s eighth time on guard duty in Azkaban. Since the Dementors had left over a year ago to join with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the guarding of Azkaban’s prisoners had fallen to the Auror Division of the Ministry.


As if we don’t already have enough to do, Dana thought to herself. Aurors were stretched extremely thin during these difficult and war-torn times. So thin, in fact, that only three or four of them could be spared to guard the thirty-plus prisoners that were currently being held in the Wizarding fortress. Guard duty was not a difficult or dangerous assignment, and usually, with all of the other spells and enchantments in place, three or four Aurors were all that was needed.


Tonight, however, would be different.


It was around 1:30 in the morning when things started to go wrong at the prison. All four guards — Dana Walsh, Michelle Branch, Roger Folan, and Juan Rodriguez, the husband of the famed and respected Daily Prophet reporter, Josephina Rodriguez — were sitting around a bright and roaring fire in the central chamber, the only Apparition point in the entire prison. It was the best place for the Aurors to be stationed because the central chamber’s Apparition point also worked as a security clearance, making it possible for only witches and wizards with the proper identifications to Apparate into Azkaban. Even if someone was able to get past all the other security spells and enchantments, they would still not be able to Apparate into the prison unless the proper identifications were presented. Never in the prison’s entire history had this security measure been breached.


But tonight it would fail, both for the first and last time.


The four Aurors were casually sipping refreshments and discussing trivial things with each other — Dana and Michelle chatted about their respective relationships while Juan and Roger argued over the latest professional Quidditch matches, each claiming their teams were the best. Over the sound of their relaxed voices and laughter came a loud ringing, like an alarm bell, which was quickly followed by many shouts and cheers coming from the cell blocks. All four guards immediately jumped from their seats. Roger knocked the small table over, sending bottles crashing to the stone floor, as he reached for his cloak, in the pocket of which was his wand.


“What was that?” Michelle asked, her ten-inch willow wand held firmly in her right hand.


“I think it’s the warning bell,” said Juan, pulling his twelve-inch mahogany wand from the inside pocket of his scarlet robe as he cautiously made his way closer to the chamber’s exit that led to the long row of cells. The shouting and cheering had abruptly ceased, though the alarm was still ringing incessantly.


“The bell’s never gone off before,” whispered Roger, jerking his blond-haired head around to stare at each one of his companions. “Could someone have breached the security?” No one responded immediately to Roger. Both Juan and Michelle, having reached the chamber’s wooden door, were peering out into the long and dark stone corridor beyond. Oddly, nothing was amiss. Dana, her wand out, was in the process of performing a number of complicated spells specifically designed for Aurors to use to assess a situation.


Finally, Juan, turning from the doorway to face Dana and Roger, answered the latter’s question, voicing for the first time what all four Aurors had initially thought when the alarm sounded, but none wanted to say aloud. “Though it would still be extremely difficult,” the Spanish Auror sighed, “only one person could have the power required to breach the security of this prison.”


“And he did.”


Every other Auror in the room immediately turned to face Dana as she looked up from the results of her assessment. Dana’s face was now pale, having lost its previous colour, and her ice-blue eyes, though still fearful, were also hard and determined as she showed the results to her companions. Neither Roger, Juan, nor Michelle had the time or the chance to examine the complicated conclusions that Dana’s spell work had produced. As soon as the Aurors had moved forward to look, the only door to the chamber was blown inward, hitting Michelle square in the chest and, after sending her flying, crashing on top of the smaller female Auror. Dana sought cover as Juan was also blown across the room with the force of the explosion. He quickly regained his footing, though, and made his way back over towards Dana and Roger, both of whom, with their wands out, were still near the fireplace, and had ducked behind the overturned black leather sofa for cover.


Thick dust obstructed the trio of Aurors’ view of the doorway, preventing any of them from acting until they knew just who — or what — they were facing. It did not take very long for the dust, dense as it was, to clear. As soon as it did, however, all three Aurors were momentarily paralysed as they stared at the figures in the doorway.


Dana’s results were confirmed as Lord Voldemort stood in the shattered doorway. But he was not alone. Numerous other black-robed figures surrounded their Dark Lord, behind them of which were the hundreds of soul-sucking creatures that had abandoned the prison in the first place. Though she tried to fight the dark creatures’ effects, Dana soon realized that there were just far too many.


“There was nothing more I could do, Ms. Walsh,” said the Healer as he placed his hand on her left shoulder, giving it a slight and, what he obviously thought was, a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry, but your mother is gone.” . . .


Her father came running towards her, terror on his exhausted face. “Your brother,” he whispered, grabbing hold of Dana and drawing her close to him, almost like he was afraid she would leave. “They took him, Dana. . . . The Death Eaters took David.” . . .


Dana felt the remains of her day’s meals escape her mouth as she stared at the body of her younger brother. The mangled corpse was no longer recognizable as the sweet, ten-year-old boy it once was. It did not even look human.


His curly brown hair, so much like her own, was stained a dark red as it stuck to his deathly pale face. Blood flowed from gashes lining every part of skin on the body, which lay in large puddles of the thick, crimson-coloured life liquid that had seeped from the many wounds. The eyes were the only parts of the corpse left completely untouched. Dana could still see her brother in those light green eyes, now devoid of their past innocence, as they radiated in death the extreme terror and pain the boy surely encountered during the last days of his life. . . .


Dana struggled to escape the dark memories plaguing her mind. She did not want to see her brother’s dead body. She did not want to hear the anguish in her father’s old voice as he wept over his lost wife and son. As the memories slowly dimmed in their intensity, Dana, attempting to distinguish the many blurry figures in the chamber, saw the silver light intrude into her vision. She was able to make out the single, bright Patronus as it ran across the room and into the mass of dark creatures. Unfortunately, there were just too many of the Dementors, and the Patronus quickly faltered and diminished into nothing.


After the Patronus vanished, everything in the central chamber seemed to be moving in slow motion. Time even felt like it had stopped for a brief moment. Dana tried to fight the Dementors’ effects, but it was hopeless without the help of a Patronus, and she did not have the strength to cast the charm. There were just too many of the soul-sucking creatures. Distantly, she thought she heard screams coming from one of her companions, and by the level of the anguished voice, she was sure it was Juan.


Finally, the cold fog in her mind cleared, almost as abruptly as if the Dementors had all left. No sound reached the female Auror’s ears and Dana hesitantly opened her ice-blue eyes, not even realizing she had shut them in the first place. After blinking several times, her vision was no longer blurry. Once she was able to see clearly, however, Dana immediately wished she had kept her eyes shut.


To her right, Roger lay slumped against the destroyed black leather sofa. A long stream of blood flowed from a deep gash that ran along the left side of his pale-skinned and youthful face. His shoulder-length blond hair draped over the gash, causing the blood to soak into the hair and give it a reddish tint, reminding Dana eerily of her younger brother.


Juan was not any better. In fact, some might even argue he was in worse shape than Roger. Her Spanish companion had apparently been thrown against the east wall — the wall that had been partly destroyed by the initial blast — and knocked out cold. He lay on his stomach, his right hand still tightly grasping his wand, and his left arm was twisted at an odd angle behind his back. Juan’s head sat in a thick puddle of his own blood — all of which had come from his being thrown against the wall. Dana’s friend’s black hair covered his face, preventing the female Auror from noticing any cuts he might have. His horrible physical appearance, however, was not what worried Dana the most. That honour went to the figure standing above Juan.


Voldemort’s scarlet eyes burned and an evil, yet pleased, grin crossed his pale features as he looked down at the unconscious body of Juan. With movements quicker than she would have thought he possessed, Voldemort reached one long-fingered hand down and, wrapping his cold fingers around her friend’s neck, pulled Juan into a sitting position. The injured Auror gave a slight groan at the sudden physical movement as he struggled to return to consciousness. After trying and failing many times to regain his sight, Juan finally managed to open his dark brown eyes. When he did, it was to see a pair of slit-pupil scarlet eyes only inches from him. Dana felt her heart choke as she saw Juan struggle to break away from his captor. Voldemort, on the other hand, seemed to find Juan’s feeble attempt amusing, for he only laughed at the injured Auror in his grasp. Still laughing, he waved his wand and conjured heavy iron shackles around Juan’s wrists and ankles. 


Once Juan was bound, another dark-robed figure appeared, walking in a way that clearly identified her as a female. She stood to Voldemort’s left, and pushed her long, black hair from her face as she lowered her hood. Dana immediately recognized the woman as Bellatrix Lestrange. All of the Aurors knew about Lestrange. She was well-known as one of Lord Voldemort’s most fanatical supporters. 


“Take care of this Auror, Bella,” hissed Voldemort as he removed his grip on Juan and focussed his gaze on Bellatrix. “Choose any of the cells and secure him in it. Lucius and Narcissa will take care of the other two.”


“What about the fourth, My Lord?” whispered Bellatrix, turning around to stare at the spot across the chamber where the heavy door had landed atop Michelle. Oh, God, thought Dana as she followed the Death Eater’s gaze to her friend.


“She’s dead,” said Voldemort. “The door’s impact killed her immediately.” With that said, Voldemort turned and exited the now-demolished chamber, leaving Bellatrix to deal with Juan. Bellatrix jerked Juan from the ground, making sure to repeatedly pull on the Auror’s broken arm. With every pull, Juan emitted a gasp of pain, and the Death Eater grinned. She even giggled when the injured Auror screamed.


Dana was so absorbed in watching Bellatrix as the other witch tortured Juan that the female Auror did not notice the tall figure approaching her until she felt fingers wind through her long brown hair and pull her from her position on the ground. The figure jerked hard on her hair, causing Dana to gasp in pain as he forced her head up to stare into his cold, grey eyes. Lucius Malfoy smirked as Dana met his gaze. Raising his right hand, he backhanded her across the face, sending her falling to the ground once again. As his wife took her time conjuring a pair of iron shackles and binding them around Dana’s wrists and ankles, Lucius continued to beat on Dana, whose position prevented her from fighting back. Blood finally appeared after several minutes, dripping from several cuts on Dana’s lips and cheeks and onto the stone floor. When the elder Malfoy raised his hand to hit Dana again, Narcissa placed a pale and slender hand on her husband’s shoulder.


“Not now, dear,” she whispered into his ear. “You and the others can get revenge later.” Lucius’s face displayed no emotion as he listened to his wife, but he finally simply lowered his hand calmly. As the couple turned and headed toward Roger’s slumped form, Dana took her chance.


Lucius and Narcissa had taken her wand when they came to secure her. However, there was still one wand that the Death Eaters did not have, and Dana could get. The Auror, whose sight was still spinning slightly, struggled over to where Roger’s wand lay only a few feet from her. He had apparently lost it in the battle. She eventually managed to make it to the wand, though, with her hands bound tightly behind her back, it was extremely difficult to use. Finally, after several minutes of struggling, she succeeded in removing the bonds around her wrists and, after getting a better hold on the wand, was able to free her ankles. Once she was free, Dana froze in place for a brief moment, not daring to breathe as she checked to make sure none of the Death Eaters in the chamber had noticed her acts.


They had not. Bellatrix apparently had already left the chamber with Juan, and both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were too busy torturing and binding Roger to notice their first prisoner’s escape. Taking a quiet and calming breath, Dana slowly rose from the floor, keeping Roger’s wand pointed at the pair of Death Eaters in front of her. She only had to make it to the exit, and then, hopefully, she would be able to get off the island and get help. She could not Apparate because, even if she had the energy, Dana was sure that Voldemort had dismantled the Apparition point.


Dana was only three metres from the door when, unfortunately, her sight took that very moment to swim out of control. As her sight blurred, Dana stumbled over one of the firewhiskey bottles that had fallen from the table when Roger had reached for his wand before the battle. The sound of her foot kicking the bottle and it rolling across the stone floor was enough to make both Malfoys turn around.


Shooting all parts of her former plan from her mind, Dana shouted the first spell that she could think of. “Expelliarmus!” The injured Auror’s spell managed to disarm Narcissa, but Lucius maintained a grip on his wand, and with a quick wave, he sent Dana flying against the west wall. Blackness crept upon her vision, but she did not slip into unconsciousness before she felt Lucius backhand her again, this time even harder than before. Narcissa jerked Dana’s arms behind her back, securing the wrists with burning hot chains, rather than the iron shackles. The pain that began to sear at her flesh made Dana scream in agony, and helped the blackness take over her mind. With her screams still ringing in her ears, the Auror quickly lost consciousness.




An ominous and heavy sadness fell over the witches and wizards of magical Britain with the rising of a blood-red sun the next morning. Owls of every breed flew from one end of the country to the other, all delivering the same horrifying news.






The bold, black headline glared out at every witch and wizard in the country from the front page of the Daily Prophet. Below the thick headline was a large picture of the previously impenetrable Wizarding prison. The Dark Mark glowed an eerie, bright green above the stone fortress, its eyes glaring out at the Wizarding World in victory.






Author’s Note 2: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I would like to know what you think about, not only this chapter, but the story in general. Also, stay tuned for Chapter Three: Friends and Nightmares. Harry Potter is at the Dursleys’ awaiting the arrival of his friends and, after seeing the chaos of the Wizarding World, he is ready to go in search of the Horcruxes.

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