PROLOGUE

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PROLOGUEBEFORE

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PROLOGUE
BEFORE

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"YOU MUST BE TRULY DESPERATE to come to me for help."

Azkaban was cold; the dementors absorbed any form of warmth — whether it be physical or emotional — but, there was a notable drop in temperature when Albus Dumbledore was permitted entry into that one particular cell. It could have been the additional dementors that patrolled her section of the prison but, there was something unfamiliar to him about that particular breed of cold. It didn't encroach on his being, leaching onto any form of positivity left inside of him and turning it to darkness; it was loneliness, a stony resignation of someone who had been left for far too long to the point the air around her seemed to simmer with repressed magic.

Florence did not move an inch. She stared out through the gaps between the bars, there was no view to observe but, the clouds were better company than the familiar walls. For nine years, it was all she had known. For nine years, the darkness that had turned and snarled inside of her stilled, fighting with itself as it rose and grow. She did not understand it and she had resigned herself to the belief that she never would. It seemed the only positive it had served her was a passive form of omniscience — her own form of sixth sense for anything magic related. Despite never having known him, she recognised Albus Dumbledore for he was and she was already familiar with his intentions.

"You were expecting my arrival." He did not phrase it as a question, it was a neutral statement of realisation. Florence had not moved an inch; had she not spoken, he would have presumed she was a statue. "I assume you know my intentions." For a moment, Dumbledore froze, he had prepared himself to be faced by a younger, feminine version of Tom Riddle. The girl that stared into
him held the aristocratic features that were undeniably her mother's.

The Min family were a highly regarded line of pure-bloods that had emigrated to England after the fall of Grindelwald. Their reputation was only magnified by their distant royal blood, it was built upon to claim their blood was beyond pure. Iseul was fire where Florence was ice; an ember always resided behind the burnt umber of her eyes and there was not a day that went by when she didn't fight for something — no matter how small it was. Iseul Min had not been seen for almost sixteen years.

Florence looked at him unblinkingly, her stillness was bordering on preternatural as she searched for something in his eyes. Only when she had found it did she move again, a surprisingly steady step for a girl who had been imprisoned for nine years. "The walls of this prison are merely physical," she said, her words seemingly carried by a melody that only she could hear, "For a man like my father, the barrier of death is only a similar inconvenience." Dumbledore paused, listening to the voice that was wise beyond any years it would face.

"Your father is alive." It was simple. There wasn't much left for him to say, he could only verify the whispers she had heard. A grim expression shuttered across her face briefly, Florence was not surprised but she would be lying if she said there wasn't a modicum of hope it had just been a rumour.

For the first time, she looked away from him, feline eyes cast to the floor as she spoke, "So it is true," her voice was low, as though she feared they would be overheard, "You want me to assist you in killing my father." A pregnant silence filled the cell, she sighed shallowly and tilted her head to the side in thought, "Are you aware of the death eaters he broke out a couple of weeks ago?"

Dumbledore nodded in a manner that almost made it imperceptible; there were many unwanted pairs of eyes and ears in the prison. "It's not safe to talk further here." The barrier against apparition had been lifted within her cell and Florence hesitantly allowed him to take her arm, the familiar sensation of being tightly wound encasing her body.

Florence Riddle had been correct — Albus Dumbledore was truly desperate.

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THIS IS A REVAMPED VERSION OF AN OLDER STORY — NOT A LOT OF THE PREVIOUS ONE REMAINS; THERE IS A DIFFERENT CASTING, NAME AS WELL AS NEW CHARACTERS AND DYNAMICS.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 | d. malfoy Where stories live. Discover now