Chapter-10

About 2 months later

[March 13th, 1945]

[Very Early in the Morning]

[Briggs Manor, North of England]

The morning air was thick with an eerie stillness as a group of Aurors arrived at the grand gates of Briggs Manor. Their arrival was urgent, prompted by anonymous reports of strange occurrences at the estate. However, as they approached the towering iron gates, they found them wide open, creaking ominously in the wind. The Aurors exchanged wary glances before proceeding cautiously inside.

The path leading up to the manor was unnaturally quiet. As they neared the entrance, the first unsettling sign appeared: servants stood at the edges of the vast courtyard, huddled in corners. They were deathly silent, their faces expressionless, eyes vacant, as if they were merely shadows of the people they once were.

"Something's not right here," muttered one of the Aurors, his voice barely above a whisper.

They pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the manor, stepping into the grand foyer. The silence was deafening, the air thick with the weight of something terrible. The Aurors moved deeper into the house, their wands at the ready. The manor, usually full of life and activity, was now a tomb of stillness.

As they approached the dining hall, they could hear the faintest sound of breathing, barely perceptible over the sound of their own footsteps. The door to the dining room was ajar, and with a collective breath, they pushed it open.

The sight that greeted them was one that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

All the members of House Briggs were seated around the long dining table. Their heads rested quietly on the polished wood, as if they had simply fallen asleep. At the head of the table sat Lord Theodore Briggs, his once proud figure now slumped, his eyes closed, and a look of profound sorrow etched into his features.

The Aurors cautiously stepped forward, trying to make sense of the scene before them. One of them, a senior Auror, cleared his throat, attempting to speak. "Lord Briggs... what has happened here?"

But before he could finish, Lord Briggs slowly raised a hand, motioning for silence. His movements were lethargic, as though it took all his strength just to lift his arm.

Minutes passed, and the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Reporters had arrived, drawn by anonymous rumors of something significant occurring at Briggs Manor. They burst into the room, cameras flashing and quills scribbling furiously in their notepads. The room was now filled with a tense silence, broken only by the soft clicks of the cameras and the scratch of quills.

Seeing the room fill, Lord Briggs opened his eyes, revealing bloodshot orbs filled with madness and regret. His gaze swept over the assembled crowd, and he began to speak, his voice raspy and broken.

"It was I," he confessed, his words dripping with anguish. "I betrayed the Starks... and the Lannisters. I allied with Grindelwald to bring them down... to seize power... but it was all a lie. A terrible, unforgivable lie."

His eyes grew wilder, and his voice rose in pitch, teetering on the edge of insanity. "I should never have done it! I was wrong, so wrong! I was consumed by greed, by ambition... and now... now they have all paid the price for my sins!"

He motioned towards the table with a trembling hand, his expression darkening. "Only my death would not have been enough repentance for what I've done. They... they needed to pay the price as well."

With that, he reached into his robes and produced a small vial. With trembling hands, he pulled out a silvery thread of memory from his temple and placed it into the vial. He set it on the table before him, his hands shaking violently. His apologies to the Starks and Lannisters came out in a frantic, disjointed stream, his voice breaking with every word.

Suddenly, he stopped. The room held its breath as Lord Briggs went deathly quiet. A cold resolve settled over his features, and without warning, he pulled out a ritual knife, the blade gleaming wickedly in the dim light.

In a final, terrifying act, Lord Briggs roars "THE NORTH REMEMBERS!" as he takes the knife and slowly slides it across his neck, declaring the same phrase untill he chokes on his own blood and goes quiet. Everyone present there too shoked to process what happened.

Soon the room erupted into chaos as the reporters screamed in horror, their quills and notepads clattering to the floor. Cameras continued to flash, capturing the ghastly scene. Aurors rushed forward, but it was too late. Blood spilled onto the table as Lord Briggs slumped over, his life extinguished in a single, terrible moment.

One of the Aurors, his face pale and hands shaking, approached Lord Briggs' body. He checked for a pulse, but it was clear. Theodore Briggs was dead. A heavy silence fell over the room as the reality of what had just occurred began to sink in.

With growing dread, the Aurors began to check the other occupants of the table. Their worst fears were realized when they discovered that every single person in the house—men, women, even the animals and pets—were dead. Not a single soul had survived. Even the flies that had gathered on the uneaten food were lifeless, their small bodies littering the table.

A chill ran down the spines of the Aurors as they stared at the macabre scene before them. This was no ordinary tragedy. This was a massacre—one born of betrayal, madness, and despair.

And as they looked at the vial containing Lord Briggs' memories, they knew that the full horror of what had transpired was yet to be revealed.

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The Daily Prophet

March 13th, 1945

By Aurelia Flint

"The North Remembers"

In a grim and shocking twist, the once-proud House of Briggs has met its catastrophic end. Aurors arriving at the grand estate yesterday morning were greeted by a sight that defied all expectations: the manor gates were wide open, and the normally bustling household was deathly silent.

Inside, the Aurors found a scene out of a nightmare. Servants stood motionless, their eyes vacant and their expressions hollow. The eerie quiet led them to the grand dining hall, where the entire Briggs family sat around the table—heads resting quietly, as if in a final, grim tableau. At the head of the table was Lord Theodore Briggs, his eyes closed, his face a mask of sorrow.

As the room filled with reporters, Lord Briggs slowly opened his eyes, revealing the torment that haunted him. In a voice strained by guilt, he confessed to the unimaginable: it was he who had betrayed House Stark and House Lannister, aligning himself with Grindelwald in a bid for power.

"I betrayed them all," he admitted, tears glistening in his eyes. "I thought I was doing this for my house, my family... but I was wrong. Terribly wrong. I was too blinded by greed that I betrayed my own people, my lord."

Briggs' voice grew desperate as he revealed the dark truth: his own death would not suffice as penance. He had condemned his entire household to death as the price for his sins.

"They... they had to pay too," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Only then could I begin to atone for the horror I've unleashed."

Before the shocked onlookers could react, Lord Briggs pulled out a ritual knife and, with one final cry of agony, drove it across his neck. His last words echoed through the room, a chilling testament to the North's enduring legacy: "THE NORTH REMEMBERS!"

Aurors quickly verified Lord Briggs' confession, using the vial of memories he provided in his final moments. The evidence was undeniable—Briggs had indeed been the architect of the betrayal that led to the downfall of the Starks and Lannisters.

But the tragedy didn't end with his death. Every soul within the manor, from the eldest servant to the smallest animal, had perished in what can only be described as a massacre. The entire House of Briggs was extinguished in one horrific night.

As the wizarding world reels from these revelations, one thing is clear: the North remembers its debts. And the cost of betrayal is steep.

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For more details on the fall of House Briggs and the aftermath of Grindelwald's treachery, see pages 3 and 5.