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Sirius Black despised Lucius Malfoy.
To him, Malfoy was nothing more than a spineless opportunist, someone who played both sides without truly deserving any credit.
As the tense discussion continued, Snape suddenly spoke.
"Even if we know the location of the Cup, obtaining it is another matter entirely," he said in his usual measured tone.
"Goblins are notoriously difficult to negotiate with. They won't allow us to break protocol to retrieve the cup. It's completely impossible."
Sirius scoffed. "We're trying to uphold justice! If they refuse to hand it over, we take it by force!"
Snape's upper lip curled in disdain.
"Shut up, you fool. Do you want to start another war?"
His words carried weight. The wizarding world had seen its share of goblin rebellions—bloody conflicts that, while ending in human victory, always came at a steep cost.
The casualties rivaled those from the wars against Voldemort himself.
After their last defeat, the goblins had been forced to relinquish the use of wands, abandon their gathering places, and surrender their language.
In return, wizards had granted them dominion over finance, a compromise that led to the goblins ruling Gringotts as they did now.
Sirius bristled at Snape's insult.
"Shut up, you miserable bat! How dare you—"
Dumbledore cleared his throat sharply, silencing the brewing argument.
"Severus is correct," he said.
"The goblins will not permit anyone besides the vault's owner to access it. They are unwavering in their rules, and I doubt even I could convince them otherwise."
The room fell into contemplation. Each man was absorbed in thought, searching for a way around this impasse.
Sirius, impatient as ever, broke the silence.
"Then we break in and take it!" he declared.
"Together, we are the strongest force in the British wizarding world!"
Snape let out a bitter laugh.
"Brilliant idea, Black. Let's wage war on Gringotts and exhaust our forces before we even face the Death Eaters. That way, Voldemort can waltz in and seize the Ministry without resistance."
Before Sirius could retort, Ethan cut in.
"There might be another way," he said.
"We could break Bellatrix Lestrange out of Azkaban and use her to retrieve the cup from her vault."
A tense silence followed.
Gringotts' laws were rigid—only the vault's owner could retrieve an item, and there were no exceptions.
If Bellatrix still had access, she could be their key.
"That's madness!" Lucius was the first to object.
"Bella is completely unhinged! If we release her, chaos is inevitable!"
His fear was evident. Bellatrix had clearly left a lasting scar on him.
Sirius smirked. "Yes, if only someone had been stupid enough to hand over one of Voldemort's Horcruxes to us—oh wait, they did. And they sent it straight to Hogwarts."
The jab hit its mark. Lucius' face flushed red, then white.
He clenched his jaw but said nothing, unwilling to take the bait.
Dumbledore finally spoke again, his voice calm but resolute.
"It is a bold plan," he admitted.
"But it is not without merit."
Everyone turned to him.
"Freeing Bellatrix is possible," he continued, "but we must ensure she does not become a greater threat in the process."
The weight of his words settled over the group as they considered the high-stakes gamble before them.
With Dumbledore's support, Ethan's plan was swiftly approved.
Without hesitation, the group moved into action.
Dumbledore and Ethan headed to the Ministry of Magic to handle the formalities for Bellatrix's transfer, while the rest of the team began scouting Gringotts and preparing for the next phase of the mission.
Since Cornelius Fudge was still in hiding, the responsibility fell to Amelia Bones.
A steadfast and pragmatic leader, Amelia held great respect for Dumbledore.
Once she understood the situation, she wasted no time in expediting the necessary paperwork.
Moments later, Dumbledore and Ethan, now in possession of the official documents, met with Sirius, Lucius, and Severus in the Ministry's grand atrium.
Even Alastor Moody had been summoned for the operation.
Ethan wasn't sure why Dumbledore had assembled such an unlikely group for what should have been a simple extraction.
With Dumbledore and himself working together, containing Bellatrix should have been a trivial matter. But he chose not to question the Headmaster.
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Azkaban
Azkaban loomed in the frigid waters of the North Sea, a grim relic of the 15th century that had officially served as Britain's wizarding prison since 1718.
Shrouded by powerful concealment charms, it was unplottable to Muggles, its presence known only to the wizarding world.
Legends claimed that an Undetectable Extension Charm had been cast within its walls, ensuring it could accommodate the ever-growing number of criminals.
Once, Azkaban had been the dominion of the Dementors—the soulless, spectral creatures that drained all warmth and joy from those imprisoned within.
Under their relentless torment, prisoners slowly withered into hollow shells of themselves, driven to madness before succumbing to despair.
"Well then, gentlemen, shall we?"
Dumbledore's voice rang out, lighthearted and composed, as if he were inviting them on a pleasant countryside retreat rather than leading an infiltration into the most dreaded prison in the wizarding world.
Perched on Dumbledore's shoulder, Fawkes, his magnificent phoenix, gleamed brilliantly against the dim Ministry halls, his scarlet and gold plumage impossible to miss.
As the group made their way through the Ministry, wizards and witches greeted Dumbledore with evident admiration.
His presence—alongside Ethan's—seemed to fill them with an inexplicable sense of security.
"Everyone, hold on." Dumbledore instructed, gesturing for them to grasp one another's arms.
Fawkes, who had been perched on his shoulder, let out a soft, musical trill before taking flight.
The phoenix ascended, wings outstretched, circling above them.
Then, in a single swift motion, he dove toward Dumbledore, gripping his arm with his talons.
A sudden burst of golden flames erupted from the bird, engulfing the entire group in a dazzling blaze.
Then—
A sharp cry echoed through the air, followed by a rush of wind and an abrupt pop.
The team materialized atop a massive, jagged black rock, surrounded by the endless expanse of the North Sea.
Fawkes glided back onto Dumbledore's shoulder, lazily preening his fiery feathers.
A biting wind howled through the air, carrying the scent of salt and decay.
Ethan instinctively pulled his robes tighter around himself; the cold here was far more brutal than the controlled atmosphere of the Ministry.
Before them lay a desolate island of blackened stone, utterly devoid of life. No trees, no grass—just an unyielding expanse of rock.
At its center loomed a fortress of the same dark stone, its towering silhouette blending seamlessly with the island itself.
Azkaban.
It stood as it always had—silent, foreboding, and utterly inescapable.
The mission had begun.