Shattered Masks, Unbroken Vows - Jegulus

Chapter 3

In a small, dimly lit room deep within the Order’s headquarters, tension hung thick in the air. The atmosphere was cold and foreboding, made even more intense by the two figures sitting in the center—Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. Both were shackled with magical restraints, their faces set with expressions of grim determination, yet they radiated an undeniable sense of fear. Their betrayal of Voldemort was fresh, and they knew the consequences if they failed to convince the Order of their sincerity.

The room was filled with Order members, their faces hardened with suspicion and anger. Dumbledore stood calmly in the corner, his gaze unreadable, while Moody paced in front of the prisoners, his magical eye fixed on them, searching for any sign of deceit. Sirius stood beside Remus and James, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression filled with barely contained fury.

The air was thick with unspoken words, the weight of what was about to unfold pressing heavily on everyone present.

Moody was the first to break the silence. His voice, rough and severe, echoed in the small room.

“You claim you want protection,” he growled, his magical eye locked on Rosier, “but the truth is, you’re both cowards. You see the writing on the wall, don’t you? Voldemort’s losing ground, and you’re trying to save your own skins.”

Rosier didn’t flinch, though the tension in his jaw was visible. “It’s not about saving ourselves,” he said, his voice steady but low. “We know things—things that could help you. Voldemort’s power is still growing. He’s been making preparations... things you can’t even imagine.”

“Like what?” Kingsley Shacklebolt asked, stepping forward, his voice deep and calm, but laced with suspicion. “What’s he planning?”

Barty Crouch Jr. shifted in his seat, his eyes darting nervously around the room. He hesitated before speaking. “The Dark Lord has been... securing his immortality. We don’t know all the details, but he’s been creating something... objects that bind him to this world.”

Confused murmurs spread through the room. Sirius frowned, his arms crossed over his chest. “Objects? What are you talking about?”

Barty’s voice trembled slightly as he responded. “Horcruxes.”

The room stirred with murmurs of disbelief and anger. James felt a knot form in his stomach. He glanced at Sirius and Remus, both of whom looked equally concerned.

Moody’s magical eye focused on the prisoners, unblinking. “Horcruxes? What in Merlin’s name is a Horcrux?”
Even James, standing beside Sirius and Remus, looked puzzled. The term was foreign, but the weight of it—the way Barty had said it—sent a chill down his spine. He glanced at Dumbledore, whose expression had shifted subtly, his normally serene face now lined with deep concern.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, stepping forward with the gravity of someone preparing to deliver devastating news. “A Horcrux,” he began, his voice soft but carrying through the room, “is a very dark, very forbidden piece of magic. It is created when a wizard splits their soul by committing murder. The caster then hides the torn fragment in an object, thus tethering part of their soul to the material world. As long as even one Horcrux exists, that wizard cannot truly die.”

The room erupted in stunned whispers. Even seasoned fighters like Moody and Kingsley seemed taken aback by the revelation. Sirius stared at Dumbledore, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

“So, you’re saying,” Sirius said slowly, his voice thick with anger, “Voldemort’s been ripping apart his soul this entire time? Hiding pieces of it in these... objects?”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Yes. That is precisely what they are telling us.”

The horror of the concept seemed to sink in all at once. James felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, his grief for Lily and the nightmarish ordeal of the attack suddenly compounded by the realization that Voldemort had defied death in such a monstrous way.