CHAPTER 20: LIBERATING INCANTATIONS
The formidable outer wards of Lestrange Manor posed a significant obstacle, but armed with Bellatrix's wedding ring, which was intricately linked to the wards, Harry found himself effortlessly passing through the magical defenses as if they were mere illusions.
Taking a moment to survey the imposing manor house, Harry silently crept up the driveway toward the foreboding front door. The sight of the manor sent shivers down his spine; its architecture exuded an eerie aura. The black stone walls rose ominously, adorned with numerous spires that punctuated the foreboding silhouette. The overall styling leaned towards the gothic, with ornate stained glass windows flanking the grand entry doors.
As Harry approached, the very atmosphere seemed to pulse with an unsettling energy. The gravity of his mission weighed heavily on him, and the shadows cast by the manor seemed to deepen with each step. The time for waiting was over; now, he had to navigate the labyrinthine corridors and unravel the mysteries hidden within the walls of Lestrange Manor.
With practiced ease, Harry approached the manor's imposing front door and touched Bellatrix's wedding ring to it. A satisfied smile played on his lips as he heard the lock click open slightly. Gently pushing the door ajar with the toe of his boot, he stepped into the eerie entry hall of Lestrange Manor.
Drawing from his earlier observations, Harry knew that Lord Lestrange's bedroom was situated on the second floor. He navigated the dimly lit hallways, his steps cautious and silent, making his way toward the looming staircase.
Upon reaching the second floor, Harry paused momentarily. Casting an underpowered "Homenium Revelio," he discerned the location of Lord Lestrange's sleeping quarters before discreetly canceling the spell. Armed with this information, he crept down the hallway, taking care to silence the portraits adorning the walls and remaining vigilant for any unexpected defenses that might thwart his progress.
The manor exuded an oppressive atmosphere, and every creak of the floorboards seemed to echo through the corridors. Harry pressed on, determined to unravel the secrets hidden within the walls and retrieve the elusive grimoire that held the key to their intricate plan.
Startled by the sudden appearance, Harry spun around, his instincts honed in an instant. Without a second thought, he cast a silent stunner, the spell finding its mark on a tiny, badly bruised house-elf. The creature crumpled to the floor in a heap, a testament to the harsh treatment it had endured.
Despite the efficiency of the spell, a pang of guilt tugged at Harry. The sight of the house-elf, battered and wearing a grubby pillowcase as a dress, evoked memories of Dobby from his second year at Hogwarts. Shaking off the momentary remorse, Harry refocused on the task at hand, pushing forward toward Lord Lestrange's bedroom.
As he continued, the portraits lining the walls remained frozen and silent, remnants of a bygone era. Approaching the master bedroom, Harry turned the handle with a gloved hand and gently pushed the door open. His wand was already raised, poised for any indication that Lord Lestrange might have been alerted to his presence. The atmosphere in the manor seemed to thicken with each step, and Harry steeled himself for the pivotal moments that lay ahead.
In the dimly lit bedroom, Harry moved silently, his every step calculated as he approached his slumbering target. The pale glow of moonlight filtered through the window provided just enough illumination for him to discern the outline of Lord Lestrange in the bed, his loud snores serving as a reassuring backdrop.
With careful precision, Harry continued to creep closer until he stood just a couple of feet away from the sleeping man. In one fluid motion, he cast a non-verbal stunning spell, the magical impact striking Randolph directly in the face. The lord slumped unconscious, allowing Harry to proceed with the next steps of his plan.
Another flick of his wand, and Harry bound Lord Lestrange in ropes, ensuring that any attempts to resist or escape would be futile. With a Lumos spell, he illuminated the room, casting light on the bound and unconscious lord. Harry then produced a foot-long piece of rope and expertly wrapped it around the wrist bearing Lord Lestrange's ring. One end of the rope was strategically positioned to touch the ring.
Stepping back from his incapacitated target, Harry intoned, "Prisoner." The command hung in the air, sealing the magical bonds around Lord Lestrange and establishing control over the captive wizard. The room remained cloaked in an eerie stillness as Harry prepared for the next phase of his mission within the confines of Lestrange Manor.
The manor was enveloped in formidable transportation wards, designed to prevent any unauthorized use of portkey magic within its boundaries. However, Harry was well aware of the exception to this rule – the lord of the house could employ a portkey as long as it was in contact with their lord's ring.
With Lord Lestrange incapacitated and his hand bound to a piece of rope touching the ring, Harry observed with satisfaction as the man vanished in a flash of blue light. A triumphant grin played on Harry's face, knowing that the crucial step had been executed successfully. Now, all that remained was to locate the grimoire and complete his mission.
Navigating through the manor, Harry made his way to the other side where Bellatrix had informed him of the library's location. The library lacked doors, and the tall bookshelves within were visible even in the darkened space. As he entered, Harry flicked his wand, illuminating the gas lamps and casting a soft yellow glow throughout the room.
In the well-lit library, Harry easily identified his target – a portrait that stood alone in the room. The soft glow revealed the intricacies of the library, with its rows of books and shelves, as Harry approached the portrait, ready to unravel the mysteries concealed within the pages of the grimoire.
In the well-lit library, Harry stood before the solitary portrait of a dark-haired woman, its occupant looking confused as she questioned, "Who are you?"
Harry responded with a calm demeanor, "You can call me Reaper, and I am here to retrieve your family's grimoire."
"Why do you want my family's grimoire?" Leta's portrait asked suspiciously.
"To break a four-century-old blood curse your family placed on another line, Corvus," Harry explained, his words revealing the key to the mission. With a deft motion, he prompted the portrait to swing forward, unveiling a tiny compartment containing a small leather-bound book.
"There is only one way to break the curse on the Greengrass line. You have to end the Lestrange line," Leta said sadly, her words carrying the weight of a long and complicated history.
Harry pointed out the stark reality, "There is only one left," as he reached in, scooped the grimoire out, and examined it before tucking it under his arm.
"I know. It saddens me to hear my once-great family has been whittled down to just my pig of a cousin," Leta said with a hint of melancholy, reflecting on the dwindling legacy of the once-proud Lestrange line.
"I am truly sorry to distress you, my lady," Harry offered genuinely as he turned on the spot and left the library, the LeStrange family grimoire securely tucked under his arm.
"Good luck, Reaper," Leta's parting words lingered in the air as Harry made his way through the manor. The walk didn't take long, and soon he emerged into the cool night air. Raising his wand, he cast a patronus, a serpent that slithered through the air, carrying a single-word message to Narcissa: "success."
With the message dispatched, Harry pressed on, his path leading him toward the property lines. His destination: Grimmauld Place, where his prisoner awaited and the next chapter in this intricate tale was set to unfold. The cool night air seemed to carry the weight of the events within Lestrange Manor as Harry moved with purpose, navigating through the shadows and uncertainties that still lay ahead.
Harry stepped through the front door and was immediately greeted by Narcissa, who was dressed in a tiny nightgown.
"Did you get the grimoire?" she inquired eagerly as soon as he entered.
"Yes," Harry confirmed, passing her the leather-bound book. He then shrugged off his grey robes, revealing the casual attire beneath.
"Excellent. And Lord Lestrange?" Narcissa asked, her attention already focused on examining the grimoire critically.
"He's unconscious and bound in the dungeon downstairs," Harry replied, keeping his gaze pointedly above her head to maintain propriety, given her revealing nightgown.
"Good. We had planned to perform the ritual here in our ritual room," Narcissa stated approvingly, a hint of anticipation in her voice as she considered the next steps in their intricate plan. The air in Grimmauld Place seemed charged with the energy of impending magic, as the pieces of the puzzle began to align for the final act in the complex play that had unfolded across timelines and fates.
"Sure thing. I just swung by to run a sweep for any concealed weapons or the like. Feel free to tag along," Harry casually mentioned, beckoning the others to follow as he strolled towards the basement kitchen.
Upon reaching the kitchen, Harry headed straight for the pantry. With a practiced motion, he swung open the door and ran his fingers along a discolored spot on the wall between the third and fourth shelves. Stepping back, he triggered a mechanism, causing the entire pantry wall to pivot forward and unveil a steep, narrow staircase disappearing into the inky blackness below.
"Who's up for a little adventure?" Harry grinned, gesturing for Narcissa to take the lead. He couldn't help but notice her wince as she treaded on the cold stone steps, barefoot.
"Everything alright?" Harry inquired, following her down the steps.
"I'm fine; the floor's just a bit chilly," Narcissa explained, making her way off the staircase and toward a cell with bars, where Randolph LeStrange lay unconscious on the cold, unforgiving floor.
As they descended further into the concealed subterranean chamber, the air grew thick with tension. Harry cast a curious glance around, eager to uncover any hidden secrets within the dimly lit space. "Any idea why our friend Randolph is catching some shut-eye down here?" he mused, eyeing Narcissa for any insights.
"You might have considered getting dressed before this little escapade," Harry remarked matter-of-factly, unlocking the cell and sweeping his wand over the unconscious man.
"Well, I do realize that now, but your cryptic message piqued my curiosity," Narcissa replied primly, starting to etch arcane runes onto LeStrange's wrist.
Curiosity painted the air as Harry observed her actions. "What exactly are you doing?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on her as she branded the runes into the man's skin.
"These runes will temporarily bind his magic, preventing any possible transformation into an Animagus form," Narcissa explained, putting the finishing touches on the last rune.
"Alright, he's in the clear. Let's wrap this up. I need some shut-eye, and you, my dear, need to put on some clothes," Harry declared, guiding her back up the stairs. In the kitchen, Bellatrix awaited them.
"What in Merlin's name are you wearing, Cissa?" Bellatrix exclaimed upon catching sight of her sister in her scanty nightgown. The room seemed to hum with tension, awaiting an explanation.
"In a rush," Narcissa defended, swiftly pointing her wand at herself and transfiguring her nightgown into a set of practical work robes.
"Did you achieve what you set out to do?" Bella inquired, shooting a questioning glance at Harry.
"Yeah, we just finished up checking on him," Harry confirmed, settling into a seat at the table.
"Good. I was hoping you weren't indulging in any mischief with my sister down there," Bellatrix remarked as breakfast materialized on the table, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.
"Bellatrix!" Narcissa gasped, looking scandalized at the suggestion.
"Nothing of that sort occurred," Harry reassured, diving into his breakfast with a sense of relief.
"That's for the best. Otherwise, Bella might have to take drastic measures," Bellatrix teased, her tone shifting to a childish lilt.
Harry shuddered at the notion, eyeing Bellatrix warily as he continued to eat, suddenly mindful of the potential consequences of Bellatrix's protective tendencies towards her sister.
"When do you plan to perform the ritual?" Harry inquired, hoping to steer the conversation away from the previous topic.
"Tomorrow night, during the full moon," Narcissa replied, savoring her eggs Benedict.
"I might drop by to witness the ritual," Harry mused, considering the prospect.
"Very well. You'll also have the opportunity to meet Jonathan Greengrass, as he'll be the other participant in the ritual," Narcissa disclosed between bites.
"Any hiccups with Randolph?" Bellatrix queried, her curiosity evident.
"Beyond his house elf nearly catching me off guard, not really," Harry responded, skewering a mushroom with his fork.
"You didn't harm the poor thing, did you?" Narcissa asked, a note of concern in her voice.
"No worries, just stunned her," Harry reassured her.
"Cissa's always had a soft spot for the elves," Bellatrix chimed in, offering an explanation for her sister's concern. The conversation flowed into a discussion about house elves and their treatment, providing a welcome diversion from the more serious matters at hand.
"I've got a soft spot for elves myself. Randolph's elf was in a sorry state, and I reckon she'll be thrilled to be rid of the old codger," Harry commented, shaking his head.
"Lucius was the same way with Dobby," Narcissa confessed.
"Dobby and I were quite well-acquainted in my timeline. I actually managed to trick Lucius into freeing him, and Dobby even came to my rescue from Bellatrix towards the end of the war," Harry shared.
"So, you and Bellatrix had some interactions in your time?" Narcissa inquired with curiosity.
"Yes," Harry replied succinctly.
"But, judging from what I've glimpsed in his memories, our interactions are much more amicable now," Bellatrix added, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Absolutely," Harry agreed, sensing a subtle shift in their dynamic that seemed to bode well for the present circumstances. The conversation continued, weaving through tales of alternate timelines and experiences that had shaped the individuals they had become.
As they wrapped up their meal, Narcissa excused herself to return to the manor and check on Draco, leaving Harry and Bellatrix alone in the kitchen.
"Did you enjoy the little performance Narcissa put on for you this morning?" Bellatrix inquired sweetly, a mischievous glint in her eyes, after her sister had vanished through the Floo.
"To be honest, I didn't pay much attention. I've already got the Black sister I want," Harry replied earnestly, his gaze steady.
Bella locked eyes with him for a moment, her expression shifting before softening. Standing up, she extended her hand towards him. "Come on, let's head home and get you to bed," she suggested, offering a supportive gesture.
Grateful, Harry accepted her hand, allowing her to lead him towards the fireplace. With a shared understanding, they Flooed back to their home, leaving behind the remnants of breakfast and the echoes of the morning's revelations.
Harry positioned himself to the side of the expansive ritual room nestled in the sub-basement of Grimmauld Place. The circular stone chamber boasted a three-foot-diameter aperture in the ceiling, permitting the moonlight to cascade down upon the room's epicenter.
At the heart of the room, two figures knelt in a peculiar pose. The first, an elderly man with silvery gray hair, had his arms bound tightly behind his back. Glowing red runes adorned every inch of his exposed skin, and he struggled futilely against an invisible magical force that held him in place.
Opposite him knelt a man of approximately Harry's age—blond, robustly built, and towering in stature. The air in the room vibrated with an unspoken tension as the participants awaited the culmination of the ritual. The moonlight, streaming through the aperture, cast an ethereal glow upon the scene, heightening the intensity of the moment.
Covered in vivid blue glowing runes, the blond man stood naked, his body unrestrained, his head held high with an apparent satisfaction as he willingly participated in the mystical ritual. In stark contrast to Randolph LeStrange, he remained unbound, presenting an intriguing dynamic to the unfolding scene.
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