THE TRUTH UNTOLD | Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

𝗶 | 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲

And yet, the legend of the Everill Curse weighed heavy on Altair's mind.

At the hands of his old master, his daughter had almost died. It was an omen, Altair was sure. He was sure the Everill Curse had followed his family; his younger brother, the youngest of three, had disappeared fourteen years earlier, while transporting dragons back to England in order to support their master. And now, his daughter had almost suffered a similar fate.

It was ironic, above all. That same daughter had aided to stop the return of his old master a year prior. And now, his memory had almost killed her.

Altair had wondered if that Harry Potter would be the next great dark wizard. After all, it was a mystery as to how he had defeated the Dark Lord. And yet, now, twice more, the child had repeated the feat.

And in both situations, Altair's daughter had been present.

A knock at the study door tore him from his thoughts. Steeling his face, Altair called for the visitor to come in.

Felix, his youngest son, stepped into the office, holding out a newspaper that was rolled and bound with a string.

'Father, the Daily Prophet.'

Altair nodded at his son. He took the newspaper from him, unbinding it to read the headline.

He nearly threw it across the study.

'Merlin's Beard,' he muttered, raking his hands through his silvery blond hair, the same colour that all his children had inherited. The same colour that the portrait of Guiscard Evereux had, who was peering curiously over Altair's shoulder at the newspaper.

'Mother wants to know if you'll join us for breakfast,' Felix said quickly, distracting his father. With one glance at his son, Altair knew that he too had seen the headline, perhaps his whole family had, and they would all know how angry this would have made him.

'Yes, I'll be down in fifteen minutes,' he said, keeping his voice steady. He rarely lost his calm countenance, yet too much was on his mind to remain in full control of his emotions.

Felix nodded and left the study, closing the door with a quiet click behind him.

For the first time in years, Altair allowed his emotions to take control. He launched the newspaper across the room, took hold of his wand and set it alight. Less than a second later, he doused the fire in water and cleared up the mess with two flicks of his wand.

The portrait of Guiscard Evereux tutted audibly behind him.

He already had enough problems, and now this.

At least, he thought, Gwenevere's involvement in these defeats of the Dark Lord makes us undoubtedly innocent.

He thought back, with a slight shiver, to that fateful night on Halloween of 1981. He had lost almost everything, and yet, his silver tongue had saved his family and himself. Following that night, Altair and Enola had agreed that they would keep their high-rank among the Death Eaters a secret from their children. What they didn't know couldn't hurt them, but rumours had a sly way of following the Everills.

Although for now, the family's position in the Wizarding War was doubted, his daughter's encounters with his old master aided in the image of his family name. That could, however, prove difficult in the future. The circumstances that would have to occur in order for it to be difficult, though, were extremely unlikely.

The Dark Lord was gone. He would not return. And if Harry Potter had anything to do with it, Altair was sure that that would be made a certainty.

He swallowed back that distasteful thought.