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SD: CH127: Endgame Part 2
🕑 Added 2024-09-25 16:27:41 +0000 UTC“Expecto Patronum,” Harry Potter intoned, and a dazzling, bright hippogriff patronus erupted out of his wand. “Go to Amelia Bones. Tell her that the French delegate Sebastian Delacour and his daughter Fleur are here. They need help immediately.”
He paused for a moment, and conjured a little vial. Wordless transfiguration, without the proper wand movements too. Fleur couldn’t help but wonder why this… what Harry Potter was doing as a third-year passout in school when he was casting spells like a NEWT student.
And then there was that transformation earlier. His skill as a war-wizard. Most importantly, the way he had treated her father and cured him from a dark curse. That sort of effortless ease only came from real-world experience.
Experience that definitely didn’t fall into the undergraduate category.
He was weird, but the good kind of weird. He definitely didn’t fall into the heroic archetype that those Boy-Who-Lived story books painted him to be. Besides, not only had he helped her multiple times, he had actually saved both her and her father's lives from these insurgents. There were many amongst the race of veela that considered such acts as beneath notice, since it was difficult to say if the person was acting by their choice or simply reacting to their allure.
Fleur was not one among them. A debt was to be repaid in full to the last knut, and an enemy was to be destroyed to their last of kin. That was the philosophy that Fleur Delacour had grown up with.
He was chivalrous, but he was no knight. Fleur had no qualms believing that he had come solely for her and her father's safety. He had a bone to pick with the elder Malfoy and something told her that the other madman had something to do with his plans. But even so, he didn't have to save her multiple times nor face powerful, adult dark wizards as well as all those werewolves in open combat to protect them as well.
And then there was his power. His skill. His amazing prowess at combat. His ability to get on her nerves…
Unconsciously, she pulled the hair falling all over face and pushed them behind her ear.
Perhaps a reward….
Then he poured a little of her father’s cursed blood into the vial and all those thoughts flew out of the window.
“What will you do with that?” She asked, her apprehension shooting up to near hostility levels.
Potter didn't answer. Instead he just held the now sealed vial in front of the patronus, the spectral hippogriff holding it softly in its peak.
“Now go.”
The spectral creature let out a loud squawk, flapped its wings brightly and turned around, taking flight, its energies whisking away into non-being within seconds.
Fleur went from gawking at him to the creature and back.
“...?”
“Zat… zat was a corporeal patronus.”
“It is.”
“‘Ow can you cast it?”
He grinned devilishly. “Have been since the end of last term. The dementors had no respect for my privacy and kept rushing in to kiss me. I mean I get they’re all fans of the Boy-Who-Lived, but they were getting all pushy.”
Fleur was stuck between mocking him for his ludicrous take and gawking at the surrealist he had just conjured.
“But… but it's a patronus.”
Potter tilted his head slightly, observing her. “You seem confused.”
“It's a patronus,” she repeated yet again. “Un… it's a spectral entity. It cannot ‘old anything.”
A sudden realisation followed by a deep amusement filled his features, like he had just gotten the meaning of a hilarious joke after a long time.
“...what?”
“Technically, it’s a guardian, called into effect by a desire to protect. It can be as tangible or intangible as is required.”
Fleur digested that. Her father could produce a patronus, but Sebastian Delacour was one of the best duellers she had met in her life. The Hogwarts Charms Professor Filius Flitwick, was another. The chief of Britain's law enforcement, Amelia Bones, was a contemporary of her father and supposedly a skilled dueller too.
That Harry Potter, supposedly third year passout at Hogwarts, was able to not just combat, but utterly demolish the opponents that had taken her father down spoke volumes.
“My Papa says that it takes ze shape of whatever creature form zat best describes us when casting it, based on ze memory you use when casting it.”
His eyes flashed in recognition again, as if her words had struck a chord in him.
“My Papa's patronus iz a falcon. Your’s is a hippogriff. Magical patroni are supposed to be rare. I theenk hippogriffs stand for…”
“Unique, self-assured, ambitious, vain, volatile, powerful…. Choose your pick.”
“So modest.”
He laughed. And unlike before, it was a carefree sound.
Fleur liked it.
“Why did you send her ze blood?”
“Aside from using it to track you down?” He asked, as if obvious. “I told you. I have to leave. Speaking of…”
He paused and raised his wand. That she didn't instantly raise hers out of precaution was telling.
He waved in complex movements, and a privacy ward took effect. While she could still see him, his actions were blurred, as if seeing him through a dewy wet mirror.
Elevated transfiguration, wordless spellcasting, and complex charmcasting. Can he do everything?
After what seemed like eternity but was barely half a minute, he dropped the ward. “My friends are fine, but I’m afraid I must leave now. The Aurors should be coming at any moment.”
“Oh,” said Fleur, wondering where the sudden pang of disappointment came from. “Potter…” she said, reluctance filling her voice. “I… zank you.”
“That sounded painful to say.”
She glared at him.
He laughed. “Kidding. Well, your gratitude is welcome, but could I just cash it for not mentioning my name in… you know, all of this?”
He gestured at the destruction and carnage all around them.
Fleur squinted her eyes. “But, why? You saved my life. You saved my Papa from zose… zose… monsters. Even ‘e would want to zank you personally. Zis is a matter of my family’s honour. I.. we owe you our life,” she finished haltingly.
Potter sighed. “Do we really have to go through all that?”
“Oui.”
Another sigh. “Look, I really don’t need the media attention on me. Britain is terrible at forgiving people that attack upstanding pureblood members of our Wizengamot. Even if they show up in Death Eater regalia and go about throwing killing curses and murdering people. But… if you really want to thank me, I’d like to request a second favour.”
Fleur blinked. “Un favour?”
He held his hand out, and an amputated hand rose up from the forest floor and fell at his feet. Fleur noted there was a wand firmly clenched in its dead grasp.
“That’s Lucius Malfoy’s arm. You can even see the Dark Mark active on it. I’ve cast a stasis charm on the hand, so it’ll survive for some time now. Maybe your father could…”
“Use zis as evidence to arrest Malfoi?” Fleur finished for him. “But ‘e is dead, no?”
Potter shrugged. “That’s for the Aurors to decide. I think his status as a fugitive is a far more favourable circumstance than him being dead.”
Fleur narrowed her eyes. “You set zis up. You wanted to get rid of Malfoi.”
“Get rid of him, yes. Set him up? That’s too diabolical, even for me. I just used whatever little plan he had in mind and turned it on itself.”
“And me and my father… we’re what? Tools?”
He laughed. “Nope. Him coming after your father and you was… how do I put it? Serendipitous? Either way, I really must go. So, can I count on you to do that?”
“I… I ‘ave to consult my papa.”
“Good enough. Well then, bonne nuit.”
And with a flick of his wand, he went unseen.
Fleur stayed like that for a long second, before she exhaled. She had expected little from this Quidditch World Cup, but it turned out to be something very memorable instead. She glanced at her father, still unconscious except the occasional coughing. She cast a couple of diagnostic charms she had known from her healing classes, and found his condition rapidly improving with every passing second. Potter, whatever he had done, had worked.
She glanced at the emptiness of the forest grounds before her, and knew that he was already gone, somewhere where he would go ahead with the rest of whatever byzantine plan he had cooked up. She had expected very little of Britain’s Boy-Who-Lived, but instead found him to be quite the riveting character, one she would like to meet again soon.
Memories of her father mentioning this Triwizard Tournament that Hogwarts was supposedly hosting this year came to mind. While originally she’d have cared little about this event, preferring to instead focus on her future in Enchanting and get an internship with the Les Departmente de Mysteres, not wanting to deal with the obnoxious British weather and the lustful stares of the weak-minded British cochons, but now she found herself thinking otherwise. It would be exciting if she could become a participant, and represent her school and put her talents against him.
It would also give her more time to figure out his secret, about how he was able to generate such tremendous incubus allure, yet also bear such a pungent magical aura alternately.
Yes, Harry Potter had proven himself to be more than adequate a subject to hold her curiosity for the foreseeable future. If nothing else, she would not be bored at Hogwarts.
Fleur smiled. “Bonne nuit, ‘Arry Potter. I’ll see you soon.”
....
....
....
With a pop, I appeared on the outskirts of the Black townhouse. I still hadn’t perfected the art of apparition down pat, but I had Narcissa fashion myself a portkey for that exact purpose. The moment I was out of the ward line, the device, a tiny button sewn on my trousers, took me to the front of the old, foliage-covered front of 12, Grimmauld Place.
Really, the next time I saw Gornuk, I’d have him commission an agent for renovating the entire mansion, make it bright as new, while keeping true to the otherwise Black outlook.
I could do with a less dreary design though.
Narcissa welcomed me at the atrium, and I sagged almost instantly, the boost I had gotten from the Potent Exstimulo potion I had ingested right before waking Fleur up now completely used up to keep me on my feet and not keeling over already. Narcissa helped me walk up the stairs and take me to the ritual room, one that had been exquisitely prepared for this night.
“Did you do it?” she asked.
I gave her a tired grin. ‘Better than that. Are we ready?”
“Come.”
Walburga had taught me about how the universe possessed all possible qualities and attributes, and every single being, living or otherwise, possessed a limited number of qualities and attributes. What we called personality was the self-identification of the ego with a set of attributes. All beings possessed egos and as such, all beings possessed personalities. The cosmos herself possessed the ultimate personality, the supreme expression of the totality of manifested existence, the one that was known in different religions by different names — the Akashic Records of Buddhist doctrines, Adya of Hinduism, or the mysterious Ein Sof of the Holy Kabbalah.
Using such ritual circles, it was possible for one to absorb a secondary personality, one that was less sophisticated but more primal, say, an animal into one’s own personality, which formed the crux of what was known in modern days as the Animagus ritual. Alternatively, it was also possible to absorb a personality far greater than oneself, and use it to ascend to a greater state formed by a fusion of the self with the greater personality. However, if one failed to conduct it properly, it could lead to complete domination of the host personality by the invoked intruder, a case similar to a spiritual possession.
There in the centre of the ritual room floor, was a majestic ritual circle engraved using mercury, with rune arrays painstakingly drawn on it.
“Why Mercury though?” I asked.
“Because,” said Walburga’s wraith, floating into the room through the walls. “It is the sole metal that can be brought to life.”
I noted that she carefully stayed away from the circle, floating all across the periphery instead of levitating above the ritual circle.
“Brought to life? You mean animated?”
The wraith shook her head. “It’s one of the components of Alchemy, boy. I had Narcissa perform repeated spiritual treatments upon the mercury to awaken it.”
She indicated the tiny crystals — wardstones — placed at specific points in the entire circle that drew power from the main wardstone empowering the building, and in turn, would flood the circle and activate it.
“To commence the ritual, you will perform a final sacrifice. Narcissa has gotten a mudblood girl from Diagon Alley and prepared her for the final sacrifice.”
Narcissa flicked her wand, and the naked form of Tracey Davis appeared on the floor, gagged, and restrained in metal chains.
“..Tracey?” I erupted, flabbergasted.
The girl recognized me and instantly attempted to free herself from the chains, but to no avail.
“What is she doing here?” I demanded.
Narcissa waved her hand. “It worked out that way. I needed someone of a certain metaphysical mass. She saw me entering that loo with you, and I don’t prefer keeping loose ends. She was convenient, and fit the recipe well too. Never met a mudblood with such natural proficiency for Necromancy.”
“She’s also my employee, and someone that’s part of my long term plans.”
“Oh please Harry,” said Narcissa, rolling her eyes. “Don’t bluff me. You might be willing to get your hands dirty, but saving these filthy mudbloods hits some right versus wrong button in that head of yours. Don’t think I haven’t seen the assemblage you have gathered over the summer.”
She raised her hand, and an antiquated dagger arose.
“Ever since Aunt Walburga discussed this ritual with me, I have been searching for the proper tool to conduct the final sacrifice. And finally this is what I ended up with.”
Her eyes glittered with pride. “The athame of Princess Medea of Colchis. History says she used it to butcher her own kin at the altar of the goddess Hecate. You will use it to slit the mudblood’s throat.”
“But —”
“You were warned that you might have to do things to get the power you seek, Harry,” said Narcissa. “Don’t tell me that after all what you have achieved, slitting the neck of some no-name mudblood makes you falter.”
“Once the ritual reaches a proper nexus,” said Walburga, unaware of my inner turmoil. “You will place the cilice belt in the centre of the ritual, and have the mercury feed upon the sacrifices stored in that belt, and develop its own personality. Then, upon chanting the words that I have taught you, you will invoke the spirits of our ancestors that lie waiting in Ni’ Hodithil. Just like before, you shall allow the spirit of the yenaldooshi to possess you, and exchange the mercury’s personality for the spirit.”
“And the Circle will then assimilate the trapped spirit into me, blessing and cursing me with the magic of the yenaldooshi, the Black Family Magic.”
Walburga smiled, and it was a cruel thing.
“Yes.”
I digested all that. Had I been better, I’d have perhaps thought of something else to challenge both of them, but time was of the essence. I had to conduct the ritual quickly, and dilly dallying things wasn’t worth it.
Not even for Tracey Davis.
Luckily for her, I had an excellent alternative in place. One that I hadn’t quite thought of earlier, but in the new scheme of things, it fitted the bill perfectly.
I could only hope that Narcissa would appreciate the irony of the situation.
“I’m not going to sacrifice Tracey Davis,” I said calmly. “Like I said, she’s part of my long-term plans.” I looked at Tracey and hoped that I could prevail upon Narcissa to obliviate her nice and proper at the end of all this. “That taint of necromancy you found in her blood? That’s from her lineage. That no-name mudblood girl you thought was convenient for our plans, is Androcles Selwyn’s daughter. And after the events of tonight, she might as well be the next heir of the Selwyn fortune.”
Narcissa stared at me, flabbergasted. “You… you can’t be serious.”
“No,” I said with a straight face. “Sirius was my godfather.”
Walburga groaned.
Narcissa grunted noncommittally. “Well, that’s a problem. Time is of the essence and we need an appropriate sacrifice. I was so looking forward to watching her expression while you slit her throat Harry. Just like you to ruin my fun.”
“Oh not necessarily,” I said, and began to divest myself of my clothes. I picked up my pouch, and held the mouth open.
“Accio Lucius Malfoy’s body.”
And the life-sized, straightjacketed body of Lucius Malfoy erupted out of the tiny pouch, sliding into the floor.
Both Walburga and Narcissa jumped at that.
“Is he….?” Narcissa began.
“Not quite,” I said, “but close. I dosed him with the Draught of Living Death. Three drops. Had to make him ‘dead enough’ to put him inside this pouch.”
“You let him stay alive?” Narcissa all but shrieked. “Harry, he — he — just kill him right now! End him before he wakes up and kills us all! Just —”
“Enough!” I barked, and Narcissa went quiet. “You said I need a sacrifice at the altar, didn’t you? Your husband would do just as well for that.”
Narcissa went white. “You — you can’t. To sacrifice him, you have to wake him up, and if he wakes up —”
“He will do nothing,” I said firmly. “Because he can do nothing.” With a flick of my wand, the straightjacket dissipated, leaving behind a body bereft of hands. Another flick, and I tied his legs with ropes. With a third flick, I summoned a pair of manacles.
“That’s —” Narcissa began.
“The shackles of Malchance,” I said, smirking. “Yes, I got them from Borgin & Burkes. It was funny when I discovered the Lomfay Enterprises logo engraved on them.”
“Lucius smuggled cursed goods into the continent through that enterprise,” said Narcissa slowly. “But… how did you —”
“You are not the only one that did their digging on others this summer, Narcissa. From the moment I knew I wanted Lucius out of the picture, I had people looking into him. His investments, good, bad and ugly. Everything.”
“Then your deal with Broderick Greengrass….” Narcissa said breathily. “You… you have been playing them, playing me. You set Draco up, pushed his chance at the Black Lordship by several years, took control of this place, and… and…”
The pieces finally began to fall in place in her mind. “You were already planning to kill Lucius even before I entered the picture. And when I offered my allegiance in exchange for killing Lucius….”
“You were asking me to do something I planned on doing eventually anyway.”
She didn’t know when or how, but I had navigated both sides over the tiny period of a month to fall directly into my hands. All while claiming to serve as tools for her and Broderick and even seemingly supporting both sides a few times. And had ended up with House Greengrass in his pocket, and Lucius down on the floor all prepped up for sacrifice.
She had given me an inch, and I had taken an entire marathon.
Narcissa was impressed and pissed as hell.
And the proverbial cherry on top was that she had arranged everything herself, and now with time being of the essence, her hands were now tied.
“Harry… we… we can’t kill Lucius at this altar.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because this ritual goes way beyond just killing someone,” she admitted. “It kills the person, kills their parents, their children… every single person they have descended from, or descends from them. This spell, it’s not just murder, it’s…
“Genocide,” I whispered. “You wanted me to commit genocide. And that’s why you chose a mudblood, isn’t it? Because even if an entire family vanished, they’d be muggles or some muggleborn or halfblood family that died overnight. Not any of your precious purebloods. And now look at it. Look. When Lucius dies at this altar, his entire line will vanish too. His parents and cousins are dead, which leaves…”
“Draco,” Narcissa whispered. “No Harry, you will not kill my son. You will not kill my son. You have to promise me. Draco cannot die. If you don’t then I will — I will —”
She raised her wand shakily.
“Narcissa,” I said coldly. “Do not forget where you stand. This is Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and I own it. As the Acting Lord Black, the wardstones answer to my command. I summoned the yenaldooshi spirit in me, which means the Black Family Magic runs strongly in my blood right now. Do you truly intend to be hostile to me, in this room, knowing what protections I enjoy?”
The wand stayed aimed at me, but the hand shook, as did her expression. She looked like she wanted to curse me, strangle me, weep at my feet and pray to me at the same time. Never had I seen the look of such despair on the face of someone so haughty, and I had to admit, the juxtaposition was just mesmerising.
“Harry Potter,” she said slowly, meaning every word. “I will not let you murder my son.”
I had heard that tone before. From Nymphadora Tonks. Narcissa and I had been pretty amicable until now, until the point when I made her feel helpless. Things had just gotten a bit complicated. Depending on how she acted next, things could turn in an indefinite number of ways, several of which would end with her demise before the night was over. I didn’t want to do it, but if I had to, I would.
I had done a lot to get my hands on the Black Family Magic, and I’d be damned if I had to walk away just to keep ickle Draco alive.
The surprising bit was that Walburga of all people stayed silent, watching me speculatively. Knowing her, she was probably admiring my ruthlessness.
“If you are willing to listen, then I have a way to save your son.”
Narcissa said nothing.
“After I wake Lucius up, we offer him a chance. To let him see his wife that has conspired against him. Let him feel the shock, feel the impossibility of the situation weighing upon him, realise that he is lying at Death’s door, ready to be sacrificed for someone else to rise to power, just like he has done all his life. And with that knowledge, offer him a chance to save his son and only descendant by…. ”
I met her eyes in an even stare.
“... casting him out. Draco would no longer be a Malfoy. He would be rejected by the Malfoy Magic. Lucius can give him away his properties, his money, but House Malfoy would be gone. Draco would have to form a new family, and with the stain on his name, he would be rejected by the House of Black’s Charter. I will ascend to the Lord of House Black, and you will be free to return to the Black name, just as you wanted.”
After what felt like eternity, Narcissa lowered her wand, and let out a small, bitter laugh. “I did. And you kept your word. To think that I believed that Walburga chose you as a replacement simply because the other option was a Malfoy, rather than your own aptitude….”
I winced at that. Walburga’s smirk didn’t help matters either.
“Look, I didn’t want all this. Hell, you and Walburga here decided that the smartest way was to keep me in the dark about this entire genocide thing, and I was planning on saving Lucius until the end so that I could kill him in front of you. I thought it would be… I don’t know, cathartic for you to see that? So don’t blame me for setting you up and destroying your son’s life. All that is on you.”
“Which conveniently fits right up your plan.”
“Yes, and what are you going to do about it?”
Both of us stayed silent for the next several seconds. Finally, she let out a loud exhale.
“You have made your point, I believe, Harry Potter,” Narcissa said somewhat stiffly. “The current balance of power does not favour me. So we will do as you suggest. But mark my words, Harry Potter. If you ever make any moves against my son after this, Morgana help me, I will find a way to end you, even if it kills me.”
A small breeze blew in the room, her oath taking effect.
“So long as he does not become a willing thorn on my side, I swear not to attack him.”
A risky thing to do, but compromises had to be made.
“Acceptable.”
“I’m glad we understand each other then,” I said. Despite being close to a hundred percent anchorage, I now had full confidence that Narcissa would never become a Lilim, not when things turned out this way. “Well then, let’s get started, shall we?”
Comments
Alatoic
I really feared for Tracey for a moment, but better use of Malfoy, I suppose Harry will ask Amelia to keep "looking for him" as long as its political benefit for him and his faction. Draco's fate is also quite original, cant be adopted by the Blacks, will have to create his last name, even with money and lands, he is quite screwed as he is not savvy enough to grow and survive in the pureblood waters he will want to swim. Hope he tries and get some humble pie from Harry and his group.
Hadrian v.E.
Harry should still have enough information come out to let the public know he was instrumental in saving the lives of an important Wizarding French government official and his Veela daughter. I can't wait for Fleur to become even more addicted to Harry's personhood. And please give him a reason, Draco.
Romavictrix
Amazing to think we are not even at Hogwarts yet. Lmao. Love this story. Looking forward to more
