The Spellbook Society - Harry Potter Fanfiction Anthology

Augusta

The frigid night sent shivers down Augusta Longbottom's spine, the biting wind howling like a menacing predator stalking the deserted streets. Her robes billowed behind her, caught in the relentless gusts, as she marched through the imposing gates of her son's residence. The bone-chilling cold seeped into her very being, but it was the nauseating dread twisting her stomach that consumed her. Every fiber of her being was alert, her senses on edge, as if the air itself whispered that something was horribly amiss.

She'd been sipping her evening tea when it struck her—a deep, primal fear. Instinct had kicked in like a surge of electricity through her spine. Without a second thought, she'd abandoned her cup, thrown on her traveling cloak, and Apparated straight to Frank and Alice's house. Her son, her daughter-in-law, and... little Neville.

Merlin, please let him be safe.

As she approached, the door stood slightly ajar, swaying back and forth with the gentle wind. A rush of adrenaline made her heart thump loudly in her chest as she cautiously pushed it open, her fingers tightly gripping her wand. The silence inside the house was unsettling, the kind that pierced through the air, hinting at something dreadfully amiss. The atmosphere was heavy with the presence of dark magic, suffocating and thick like a dense fog. Her breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, matching the pace of her eyes as they scanned the front room. Augusta had been taught by Frank how to cast a Patronus messenger, a skill she hadn't fully mastered until recently. Knowing time was running out, she conjured her Patronus and sent it to Alastor Moody, hoping for help. But deep down, she understood she couldn't afford to wait for him—something had to be done now.

The furniture lay overturned, books scattered and picture frames smashed, creating a chaotic scene on the floor. Augusta's heart pounded against her ribs, its rhythmic thumping echoing in her ears, as she cautiously stepped inside. The worn wooden floor creaked loudly under the weight of her boots. Her eyes darted around, taking in the sight of the staircase, the entrance to the kitchen, and the seemingly endless hallway. The silence was deafening, devoid of any signs of life.

The foul and metallic smell permeated the air, assaulting her senses as she breathed in.

She recognized that scent instantly, its putrid odor of anguish and brutality. As her fingers clenched around her wand, she could feel its cool, smooth surface beneath her touch. The air was heavy with an ominous silence, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves. Every fiber of her being urged her to flee, to escape the impending danger. Yet, she refused to yield. Bravery coursed through her veins, refusing to succumb to fear. For her family, she would stand strong, unwavering in the face of adversity.

Suddenly, the silence shattered as a loud crash echoed through the air. Deeper within the house, a disturbing, throaty laugh resonated, followed by the haunting sound of voices filled with malice and mockery.

Her breath caught in her throat as she moved swiftly, her movements as precise as they were determined. She'd been a fighter once, long ago, during the Global Wizarding War. She knew how to handle herself in battle. Even now, at her age, the fire in her had never dimmed.

As she moved down the hallway, the low, guttural laugh of a woman reached her ears. The laugh sent a cold shiver down her spine. Bellatrix Lestrange.

She approached silently, her heart pounding but her steps steady, the dark magic in the air making every hair on her body stand on end. Peering around the corner, her eyes narrowed at the sight of the four Death Eaters looming over her son and daughter-in-law. Bellatrix Lestrange was laughing maniacally, her wand raised, while Barty Crouch Jr. lounged near the fireplace, as if this were a casual gathering. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange stood nearby, their wands out but their attention scattered. None of them had noticed her.