A/N: Sorry to those who read the update yesterday; the chapter order has been changed. The new section you're looking to read is actually labeled "Chapter 3"
Disclaimer: not mine
The Distribution of Will
Chapter 4
Grimmauld Place is cursed. Protection spells are natural for a wizarding dwelling, layers of shields and barriers that cloak the home in a circle of warmth and secrecy.
Grimmauld Place, however, is cursed; thrice hexed from the outside and possibly several from within, probably to err on the side of caution. Rasalas arrives with two trunks at hand; one is filled with the belongings he could not think to part with; the other is filled with books.
When the front door fails to yield to any coaxing or prodding Rasalas can come up with, even with his admittedly generous repertoire of hexes, it becomes clear which of his belongings will be the more useful. The door finally cracks beneath a particularly heavy bombardment of anti-locking spells and all-purpose Alohamoras, and he pushes his way in, the dust and murk of the place immediately sweeping upon him in unrelenting waves. Rasalas spends his first twenty minutes in this place he will probably call home coughing, waving his hands in front of his face and trying not too swallow too much of whatever it is that clogs his throat.
The curls of dust finally swirl to a settle, though Rasalas still has to move gently through the front hall, as if they were a million dozing children just put to bed. The wallpaper, he can see, was at one time rich and textured, probably a deep red threaded through with gold and green, though it has faded and peeled to creams and browns. There is a massive hole in the marbled floor at the foot of the shattered staircase, smaller blast marks lining the walls and ceiling and cracks connecting them like lines drawn on constellation map. Rasalas has read about the various battles of the Second Wizarding War, written meter long essays about them but he, despite his proximity to not a few major players, has never quite imagined it so vividly.
He can see the jinxes being thrown, chipping and scorching the marble and granite and oak, hoarse shrieking above the dust, bloodless death amid flashes of terrible green light. Was this the very air the defenders of the wizarding world gasped as they scrambled to shut out the onslaught of Death Eaters? Was this the very ground that shook when the legendary Albus Dumbledore and He Who Still Shall Not Be Named met and clashed and put the boom of lightning and thunder to shame?
On one hand, Rasalas wants to keep that history, trace it with his fingers and his imagination and make it real. He wants to wonder at the heroism that stains these walls, the villainy, the simple black and white convictions of it. On the other, he can so clearly realize the luxury and privilege these halls once represented. Whereas his father's home, the Malfoy manor, had been of a brand of elegance bought and paid for, the atmosphere here is that of old sensibilities, pride and careful tending reaching back centuries before it fell in such disrepair. Not that it can't be restored, Rasalas thinks, digging through his trunk again, trying to think of renewment spells more complicated and precise than "reparo." Nothing that happens can't be undone.
Next update: 10.25.08