Gilderoy noticed it the moment he stepped inside after his morning workout. No laughter. No shouting across tables. No clatter of plates being dragged closer or chairs scraping stone. Even the owls seemed quieter than usual, wings tucked in, heads turning slowly.
Students sat stiffly, shoulders hunched. Some stared straight ahead. Others whispered in short bursts, voices barely rising above breath. A few looked pale enough that Gilderoy wondered if they had slept at all.
Near the Hufflepuff table, a second-year leaned over a newspaper—and gagged.
Amelia was already seated at the Ravenclaw table. She didn't greet him with her usual smile. Instead, she reached out and slid a folded copy of the Daily Prophet toward him without a word.
He sat beside her.
The headline hit him before he even unfolded the paper.
DARK LORD MASSACRES MUGGLE VILLAGE
The moving photograph showed fire. Buildings collapsing inward. Smoke spiraling into a gray sky. And above it all—
The Dark Mark.
Gilderoy's jaw tightened as he opened the paper fully.
______________________________
The Daily Prophet – Special Report
Dark Lord's Forces Leave Muggle Village and Pureblood Estate in Ruins in Ruins
By Marlene McKinnon
The village of Little Thornbrook has been reduced to a scene of horror following an attack by followers of the Dark Lord. Entire streets lie in ruin, homes reduced to splintered timbers and rubble.
Ministry Aurors arriving at the site described the violence as deliberate and indiscriminate. Bodies—wizard and Muggle alike—were found throughout the village, many bearing signs of torture.
Officials described the scene as "shocking even by the standards of dark wizard attacks," noting that the violence appeared deliberate and indiscriminate. Charred walls, clawed doors, and gouged furniture bear witness to the merciless hand of the attackers who might have been non-human, while pools of blood collect in the cracks of shattered cobblestones, each drop a testament to lives extinguished without hesitation.
Adding to the terror, the Ancient and noble Veylin estate in the countryside has also fallen victim to a similarly ruthless assault. Once a grand manor surrounded by orchards and high walls, the estate now stands as a skeletal ruin. Auror reports indicate that the entire family—parents, and even the infant heir—were slaughtered within the walls of their home. Magical wards meant to protect the estate were found to be torn apart.
Ministry are urging magical and Muggle communities alike to remain vigilant, emphasizing that no settlement—however isolated—or family, pureblood or Muggle, is beyond the reach of the Dark Lord's wrath. These atrocities mark a new level of terror, where the lives of innocents are extinguished for the sheer pleasure of domination and fear.
______________________________
He folded the paper and stared at the table.
Someone at the Gryffindor table slammed a fist down. "They killed a baby."
A girl nearby whispered, "The wards didn't even slow them down."
"I heard it wasn't just Death Eaters," another voice said. "Creatures too."
Amelia's fingers tightened around her teacup. "This is the third attack this month."
Gilderoy nodded slowly. "And they're escalating."
Reading about Voldemort and his Death Eaters had always felt distant—almost storybook. Something contained within pages, not reality.
Now it was different.
The deaths. The randomness. The way entire lives were erased without reason—it hit harder when you were living inside that world.
These Death Eaters… they're mad. There's no redemption left for them. Killing is the only option.
Even if Harry Potter is destined to face him one day,I will weaken Tom Riddle as much as possible before the inevitable confrontation.
I'm not from this world and I have no obligation to fight Voldemort or save anyone.
But magic had been placed in my hands—and what use was power if it was never used?
If I have magic in my body, why wouldn't I push myself to be stronger?
Voldemort's destruction would come soon enough. That made him a priority—but not the first.
Understanding magic comes first. Voldemort isn't my limit. Neither is Dumbledore.
Sensing Amelia's tension, Gilderoy reached for her hand.
"Maybe we should form a group," he said quietly, eyes flicking over the solemn faces filling the Hall. "Fight Voldemort. Practice real D.A.D.A. Train together."
A memory surfaced—words from his previous life.
Dumbledore's Army.
But he didn't want to name it after Dumbledore. Not this time.
He need something stronger, something that would inspire unity and courage, not homage to a man.
"United," he breathed, the word tasting like power and promise.
Amelia's eyes widened slightly, then softened in approval. "I like it," she said squeezing his hand. "United it is."
-
They started that afternoon.
Notes were passed between classes. Short. Direct.
Training group. Defense. All houses welcome.
The goal: learn more magic, strengthen themselves for D.A.D.A., and practice spells the current teachers neglected to teach.
The reactions came fast.
Hufflepuffs were the first to step forward. Loyalty showed plainly in their faces. Gilderoy recognized members of multiple Quidditch teams—Alex Summers and his teammates accepting the note without hesitation.
Gryffindors followed, anger sharp and focused. The massacre had lit something fierce in them.
Ravenclaws debated. Spells were suggested. Counters argued. Strategies proposed. Gilderoy noticed familiar faces—Emma Halloway, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, along with several other team members listening closely.
Slytherins, however, were another matter.
Some stayed silent. A few accepted the note out of curiosity. Others—especially their Quidditch team—were openly hostile.
"Mudblood sympathizer," one sneered.
Gilderoy met their stares calmly and smiled, which only irritated them more.
Regulus Black, however, remained apart, watching from the shadows with silent, calculating eyes.
The Slytherins couldn't reprimand him for not voicing support for the Dark Lord. The Black name—especially that of Arcturus Black—carried too much weight.
As whispers spread and plans took shape, Gilderoy realized something.
The taboo had brought fear.
But it had also sparked resistance.
---
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