Even as the Chief Warlock began to read off my sentence, I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what was happening. My hands were clenched into fists, nails digging painfully into my palms, as I futilely pushed against the iron chains binding me to the chair.

This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t be. I was Hydrys Black, not some mudblood. So what, I’d killed a couple squibs and muggles, who cares! Muggles die all the time. It's not like I’d hurt anyone that mattered. Even that Auror I hit with a blood-freezing curse was fine. He’d come out to testify against me so they must have gotten him to St. Mungo’s with time to spare. Blacks did not get put on trial before the entire Wizengamot. Blacks did not get sentenced to life in Azkaban.

My eyes desperately searched the rows of seats filled with the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot. This had to be a mistake. Any moment now the chains would retract and I’d get my wand back.

I found my lord uncle Sirius sitting in his usual place, his plum Wizengamot robes and black hat utterly pristine and a narrow frown on his face. Beside him sat his oldest son and heir, Arcturus, his robes as black as our house name and embroidered with silver stars. My father wasn’t in the room, nor was my mother. I hadn’t seen either of them since the winter holidays. Neither had attended the trial, nor had they come to talk to me while I languished in my holding cell.

Sirius wasn’t even looking at me, instead talking softly with his neighbor. My eyes met Arcturus’ and his lips curled into a smirk before he quickly looked away.

I saw red. Betrayal, betrayal of the highest order. Sirius could have waved a hand and made all of this disappear, but he hadn’t. Why? Arcturus. It had to be. My cousin clearly knew that I was a threat to his position as heir and convinced his father not to intercede in the case.

The traitor. He was worse than a squib, worse than a muggle even! At least muggles could understand bonds of loyalty! Arcturus was a blood traitor of the highest order, a wretched piece of filth who would turn his back on his own family, his own blood!

I closed my eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, but serenity eluded me like a distant dream. I’d kill him. I’d kill both of them, if it was the last thing I did. They deserved that and worse for turning their back on me.

I opened my eyes and tried to focus as the Chief Warlock’s speech began to wind to an end. The old, wizened wizard turned towards me, the scroll clutched in his bony hands nearly blocking his entire body from my sight.

“For the crimes of thirteen violations of the statute of secrecy, murder, use of dark magic, and assault of an Auror, we the Wizengamot sentence you to life in Azkaban, Mr. Black. Your wand shall be snapped, your name stricken from your family tree, and your place at Hogwarts revoked. Do you have anything to say for yourself, young man?”

I scowled at him and grit my teeth. What utter hogwash. Thirteen violations of the statute of secrecy? What violations! All the muggles that saw me do magic were dead! I’d even made sure to obliviate all the ones I hadn’t needed so I wouldn’t make more work for the Obliviators––they had enough on their plates as it was.

And murder? Since when was killing muggles and squibs murder? Okay, I could accept the use of dark magic and assault of an Auror charges, but I could afford the fines for those with just my allowance. They were blowing things way out of proportion and putting me away on trumped up charges! Blood traitors and scum, all of them.

I fumed silently as the proceedings continued. Everything I did, everything I worked for, it was all falling apart before my eyes. War was coming to Britain, everyone with eyes could see it, and I just wanted to be ready. I’d heard of Grindelwald’s might, of the legions of wizards and creatures that followed him, and I knew that I had to be better than I was to serve my country and my family in the years to come.

And yet, my words and defenses had fallen on deaf ears. They called me insane, and yet it was they who were sticking their heads in the sand! War was coming, and I’d spend it all languishing in Azkaban as Grindelwald destroyed our country and our way of life.

No, no. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t end like this.

I saw headmaster Dippet staring down at me from the audience, his hands folded in his lap as he slowly shook his head. A number of artists worked furiously to record this moment on paper and canvas, their wands and brushes a blur. Sirius still wasn’t looking at me, and Arcturus was smiling. Smiling!

An Auror entered the room, my precious wand held firmly in his grubby hands. Impossible, grasping coldness flooded my body a moment later as two dementors floated ominously into the room flanked by two more Aurors and four patronuses.

No. Not like this. Not like this. Not. Like. This.

I squeezed my eyes shut and focused with every fiber of my being. ‘Relashio, Relashio, Relashio!’ I chanted frantically in my head.

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Nothing happened. I felt tears begin to pool at the corners of my eyes. The Auror was right next to the Chief Warlock now, my wand extended out in front of him.

‘RELASHIO!’ I screamed inside my head, and suddenly, miraculously, I felt my magic respond.

Chains burst away from my arms and legs, individual links hurtling through the air while the majority of the chains withdrew back into the chair beneath me. For a moment, I was as surprised as everyone else, but then I moved.

I leapt out of my seat like it was on fire and charged towards the Chief Warlock like an out of control bludger. Two scarlet stunning spells flew through the air behind me as I crossed the courtroom in two bounds and tackled the Auror holding my wand as though I was some sort of muggle barbarian.

Screams filled the hall as I seized my wand, silver sparks bursting out of its end as I felt power filling my body. I couldn’t quite believe my good fortune, but there was no time to think. I twirled my wand between my fingers, and a powerful protego shield appeared around me just in time to deflect a half-dozen spells from the nearby Aurors.

“Damn you, damn you all!” I cried out, “This is a farce, a mockery of justice!”

Even as I raised my wand towards the rapidly approaching Aurors, I knew that it was already over. There were more than a hundred wizards in the hall, at least a dozen of them Aurors. I could feel hopelessness clawing at me, only barely held back by the warm light of the patronuses.

Still, I’d rather die on my feet than wither away in Azkaban. I raised another shield, then pointed my wand up at my traitorous cousin and uncle. There was only one spell that could do the job, a spell I’d never even considered attempting before. Still, what did it matter?

“Avada Kedavra!” I screamed, pouring every ounce of the rage, despair, and murderous intent I could into my wand. Gasps filled the air as a streak of green light blasted from my wand and punched clean through the wards around where the members of the Wizengamot sat.

Sirius, half out of his chair, collapsed bonelessly to the ground. My knees buckled and exhaustion washed over me, the strain of casting such a powerful, unpracticed piece of magic nearly knocking me unconscious, but I pushed through it. I wasn’t done yet!

I refreshed my shield and raised my wand again, but Arcturus was nowhere to be seen. No! No! No! He couldn’t get away! He couldn’t! He couldn’t! The traitor was getting away!

A wave of bone-chilling frost washed over me and I whirled around towards where the Aurors had entered the hall. The four patronuses were gone, and the two dementors floated towards me like spectors of death.

Oh sweet Merlin, no, no, no! “Expecto Patronum!” I shouted, but this time I did not manage an incredibly advanced spell on my first attempt.

A boney, grayish hand covered in slimy scabs brushed against my shield charm, and the charm shattered like a pane of broken glass. I fell to my knees, my legs no longer able to hold me up. I was powerless to resist as one dementor firmly grasped my chin and raised my head up towards it.

It took a deep, raspy, rattling breath that made the very air around me shudder, and then it lowered its hood.

Oh Merlin, no. They couldn’t have! You needed an order from the Wizengamot to sentence someone to the Kiss, and…and I could see the Chief Warlock standing huddled behind two red-robed Aurors, their wands extended towards me.

It wasn’t fair. This wasn’t supposed to be how my story ended. I was supposed to be great. The Hat told me that I was going to be great.

Eyeless sockets gazed down at me, and I couldn’t look away from the dark void where the dementor’s mouth should have been. I let out a loud, heaving sob, and my fingers wrapped tightly around my wand.

Fuck it, if I was to die, then I would die! I wouldn’t let my soul get eaten by a Merlin-accursed dementor. I glanced over at the Chief Warlock and tried to smile.

“Pestis Incendium!” I hissed, my voice barely more than a choked whisper, but it was enough. Scarlet droplets fell from the tip of my wand and burst against the ground. A moment later, heat bloomed, battering back the dementor's icy chill. Normal fire could not burn in the presence of dementors, but this was no ordinary fire. Fiendfyre could burn anything and anywhere.

Stone caught fire and the dementor flinched backwards. I collapsed bonelessly onto the floor and watched as deadly flames bore down on me. So this was the end, huh? Not what I’d wanted, but at least I’d gotten part of my wish. As long as they couldn’t get the flames under control fast enough, well…The Wizarding world would never forget me, the man who set Fiendfyre alight in the very halls of the Ministry. I could live with that.

Something inside me snapped, and I felt a burst of cleansing heat erupt from my chest. The world spun around me and fell away, replaced by an infinite expanse of nothing and everything that burned my eyes to look at. ‘Was this what death felt like?’ I wondered for a moment? And then my consciousness fell away and I knew only darkness.