Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Kane waved his wand, the tip drawing a silver rune in the air. The rune slowly merged into the wall and disappeared.

"This spell was specially prepared for you," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "After all, I don't want you to ruin my plans."

Kane continued, "Furthermore, I've reached an agreement with the warden. Starting today, there will be two more guards outside your cell... specifically to keep an eye on you."

His gaze swept across Blake's face, capturing every subtle shift in his emotions.

Blake's body slowly slid to the ground, the light in his eyes gradually dimming.

He had already sensed how terrifying the boy in front of him was.

"What...what do you want?" His voice carried a hint of despair.

"I want you to live," Kane's voice was calm yet powerful, "live until I've arranged everything. Then... I'll let you finish Peter off yourself."

Blake's body trembled slightly, and the light in his eyes rekindled.

His voice was low and hoarse: "You...you really can do it?"

Kane nodded. "I have my ways. But on the condition that... you have to listen to me."

As Kane left the cell, Blake's voice came from behind him: "Could you look after Harry for me?"

Kane stopped, but didn't turn around. "I will, and no more Dementors will come here."

The iron gate slowly closed; the boy was gone.

At that moment, a glimmer of hope ignited in Blake's eyes.

He must live a good life.

He also seeks revenge.

They also had to take care of Harry in place of James and Lily...

As Kane stepped out of the gates of Azkaban, the chilling sea breeze, carrying the icy aura of the Dementors, rushed towards him.

His parents and Draco stood not far away, their faces as pale as paper.

It's clear they've just had an unpleasant meeting.

Narcissa's fingers gripped the edge of her silver fox fur shawl tightly, while Lucius's serpent-headed staff continued to tap the ground rhythmically, producing a dull thud.

Draco stood to the side, his face pale, his eyes filled with barely concealed fear.

It turns out that the Death Eaters I used to admire were actually so insane.

Especially when she heard the other person describe how she tortured that family before her arrest.

"How is it?" Kane stepped forward, his voice calm but with a hint of concern.

Lucius snorted coldly, and the sound of the serpent-headed staff striking the ground stopped abruptly.

"Bellatrix... she's still as crazy as ever." There was a hint of displeasure in his voice. "She wanted us to help her get out of here, but I refused."

Narcissa gently held her husband's hand, looking at Kane with tender yet firm eyes.

"We told her we would figure something out...but not now."

Her voice held a mother's worry, "Kane, do you really think this will work?"

"Her...her eyes are like a madwoman's..."

Draco's voice trembled, as if he was still reliving the scene. "She kept laughing... that kind of laughter... it was chilling."

Draco's mind kept replaying Bellatrix's image—disheveled black hair, sunken cheeks, and a mad glint in her eyes.

Her laughter was sharp and piercing, and coupled with the menacing presence of the Dementors overhead, it sent chills down one's spine.

"She kept asking me...asking me if I had ever killed anyone,"

Draco's voice carried a hint of unease. "She said... only those with blood on their hands are worthy to follow the Dark Lord."

Kane's gaze swept over his family, then he patted Draco's hair. "We don't really need to help them," he said.

His voice carried a chilling laugh. "We just need to make them believe... we'll help them."

"Bellatrix has Voldemort's things, which I need."

Kane's eyes were fixed on Lucius.

Lucius's body trembled violently, and the serpent-headed staff nearly slipped from his grasp.

He remembered the diary Voldemort had left him.

His voice held a hint of disbelief, "How did you know..."

"Father, blind loyalty is the worst thing you can do."

His voice was calm, yet it made Lucius feel a sense of oppression, the same pressure he felt from the Dark Lord, and now from his own son.

Bellatrix Lestrange was taken back to his cell with that maniacal smile still on his face.

Her steps were light and quick, as if she had just attended a grand banquet.

"Bella!" A hoarse voice came from the next cell; it was Antonin Dolokhov.

His face showed a mixture of doubt and anticipation. "What happened? You look...happy."

"Oh, Antonin, you'll never guess..." Her voice held a hint of excitement, "I just met my sister Narcissa... and her family."

Dolokhov leaned forward slightly, a hint of interest flashing in his eyes.

"Lucius?" His voice held a hint of doubt. "What are they doing here?"

"You don't understand. They say the Dark Lord might be coming back!"

Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphs, sat in the corner of the cell, his gaze somber and indifferent.

He was used to his wife's fervor, but this time, a hint of unease flashed in his eyes.

"Bella," his voice was low and hoarse, "you shouldn't have too high hopes for them. The Malfoys... have always been opportunists."

Bellatrix turned around abruptly, her eyes flashing with madness.

"Shut up, Rodolphus!" Her voice was sharp and piercing. "You'll never understand... The Dark Lord is coming back! We'll be saved soon!"

The Dementors, like sharks drawn by the smell of blood, gathered from all directions.

Their empty eye sockets gleamed with hunger, and their rotting cloaks fluttered silently in the air.

Bellatrix's joy is like a sumptuous feast to them.

"Look at them..." Bellatrix's voice held a hint of sarcasm. "Even the Dementors know... how delightful it is to see their master return!"

Her laughter rang out again, sharp and piercing, as if mocking the whole world.

The Dementors surrounded her, opening their lipless mouths and greedily sucking away at her happiness.

Bellatrix seemed unconcerned about the Dementors' approach, instead opening her arms as if welcoming them.

As the Dementors greedily sucked Bellatrix's euphoric emotions, the other prisoners' emotions were ruthlessly stripped away as well.

Pain and despair were written on their faces, as if the last bit of life had been drained from them.

"No...no..." A prisoner huddled in a corner, clutching his head tightly with his hands. "Stop...please...stop..."

The other prisoner's body slowly slid to the ground, the last glimmer of light disappearing from his eyes.

His breathing became weak, as if it might stop at any moment. "I...I can't take it anymore..." His voice was low and hoarse, almost inaudible.

Rodolphus Lestrange sat in the corner, his gaze vacant and blank.

"Bella..." His voice was low and hoarse, "What...what are you doing..."