Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me.
Chapter 12
~ Harry Potter ~
The sub-basement of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, was a space that even the house's most ancient ghosts avoided. It was carved directly into the bedrock of London, a cavernous, spherical chamber designed centuries ago for rituals that required the absolute containment of magical fallout. The walls were constructed with layers of compressed basalt, etched with runes so old that their meanings had been lost to standard wizards, preserved only in the memories and books of the oldest, most ancient families.
Tonight, the room hummed with mana. It was a low vibration that rattled the teeth and made the fine hairs on one's arms stand at attention.
The room was a circular expanse of cold, dark stone, the floor engraved with intricate runic circles that had been filled with a mixture of powdered herbs, crushed doxy eggs, and the blood of the new lord of the house. Numerous floating candles hovered near the vaulted ceiling, their flames burning not with the warm orange of fire, but with a silver-white luminescence that cast long, sharp shadows against the walls.
At the centre of this arcane diagram lay Bellatrix Lestrange.
She was strapped to a raised stone altar, her body rigid, forced into unconsciousness under the influence of the magic of the man who defeated her. Even in this comatose state, her face was a mask of tension, her brow furrowed as if she were enduring a nightmare that had lasted for twenty years.
Fleur Delacour stood at the northern cardinal point of the runic circle, her posture erect, her sapphire eyes narrowed in intense concentration. She wore robes of simple white linen, devoid of any adornment that might interfere with the flow of magic. Her hair was tied back severely, revealing the sharp, elegant lines of her face. Tonight, she was not the Triwizard Champion, nor the beautiful French Veela.
In this moment, she was a Curse-Breaker, a master of dismantling the dark and the dangerous.
She traced the final curve of the Algiz rune, her hand steady despite the oppressive weight of the ambient magic. She was a curse-breaker in training, a role that required the precision of a surgeon and the nerves of a duellist. But this... this was something else. This was soul magic.
"Do not rush the curvature, girl," a voice echoed from the shadows.
Fleur didn't flinch. She finished the stroke and sat back on her heels, looking toward the large, ornate portrait frame resting against the far wall. Walburga Black sat in her painted chair, looking imperious and severe. For once, the matriarch was not screaming. Her painted eyes were sharp, analysing every line Fleur drew with a critical, predatory gaze.
"Ze curve is precise, Madame Black," Fleur replied, her voice calm but carrying a steely undercurrent. "Ze geometry must align wiz ze ward line running beneath ze 'ouse. If I angle it as ze book originally suggested, ze feedback loop would shatter ze crystals."
Walburga sniffed, a sound of painted disdain, but she nodded slowly. "You have an eye for structure, half-breed. See that you maintain it. If the containment fails, the backlash will liquefy your organs."
"Charmant," Fleur muttered, wiping her hands on a cloth. She stood up, her movements graceful despite her exhaustion.
Nearby, Apolline Delacour moved with a liquid elegance that mirrored her daughter's, though hers was ripened by age and power. She was placing large, raw geodes of clear quartz at cardinal points around the central altar. As a mature half-Veela, Apolline was sensitive to emotional resonance. The air here tasted of centuries of rotten darkness, but she pushed through it, humming a low, melodic tune that seemed to push back the encroaching shadows. She caught Fleur's eye and offered a reassuring, albeit tight, smile.
Narcissa Malfoy stood at the head of the altar. She was a statue of ice and sorrow. Her hands hovered over her sister's face, trembling slightly before she clasped them together to stop the shaking. She looked at Bellatrix not as the monster the world knew, but as the big sister who had taught her how to braid hair and hide from their father's temper.
"It is ready," Fleur announced, her voice echoing in the chamber. She stepped back, joining her mother near the boundary of the runic circle.
The house-elves—Kreacher, Dobby, and Winky—were positioned in a triangle around the altar, just outside the primary chalk line. They were holding hands, a sight that would have been comical if not for the intense, palpable power rolling off them.
Elf magic was different.
It was earthy, binding, and incredibly stable. They were the anchors.
The heavy iron door groaned open, and Harry Potter stepped inside.
The war had eroded the softness of boyhood from his face, leaving behind sharp angles and eyes that held the weight of too many graves. He wore simple robes, stripped of any crests or adornments, save for the Lordship rings of Potter and Black that glinted on his right hand in the low torchlight.
Harry paused at the threshold, letting the atmosphere of the room wash over him. He felt the wards Fleur had erected. He felt the ancient, darker wards of the house acknowledging him, a deep, resonant thrum in his chest.
He walked to the edge of the circle. Narcissa looked up, her grey eyes wide and glassy.
"Harry," she breathed.
"We're ready, Cissy," Harry said softly. His voice was calm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. He was about to dive into the mind of one of the most dangerous witches in history, to fight a piece of the evillest wizard of all time.
"Remember," Walburga's voice cut through the silence, sharp as a whip. "You are the Lord of this House. She is of your blood, by magic and by heritage. You have dominion here. Do not ask for entry. Command it. If you show weakness, the parasite will flay your mind."
Harry looked at the portrait and nodded. "I know."
He stepped over the chalk line. The air pressure dropped instantly. Inside the circle, the silence was absolute. He walked to the altar and looked down at Bellatrix. Up close, the damage was visible—the fine tremors in her skin, the way her veins looked black against the pallor of her flesh. The corruption was eating her alive.
"Andromeda?" Harry asked, not looking away from Bellatrix.
"She is upstairs," Narcissa whispered. "She... she could not watch. Her heart is too fragile right now. She is guarding the door."
"Good," Harry said. "This isn't going to be pretty."
He looked at Fleur. "Seal it."
Fleur nodded. She raised her wand, and Apolline did the same. They began to chant in a lyrical, flowing form of Latin verses, invoking ancient magic rooted deep within the house. The crystals flared with blinding white light. A dome of translucent energy rose around the altar, sealing Harry, Narcissa, and Bellatrix inside the primary zone, while the elves anchored the dome's stability from the outside.
Harry took a deep breath. He reached out and placed his hands on Bellatrix's temples. Her skin was burning hot, feverish.
"Stabilize her body," Harry commanded Narcissa. "Don't let her heart stop."
Narcissa placed her hands over Bellatrix's heart and solar plexus, her wand humming with diagnostic spells. "I have her."
Harry closed his eyes. He centred himself. He thought of the Occlumency lessons, of the fortress he had built in his own mind. He gathered his magic, compressing it into a single, sharp point of intent.
Legilimens.
The world dissolved.
~ Harry Potter ~
The stone floor, the candles, the scent of herbs—it all vanished in a swirling vortex of grey mist. There was a sensation of falling, of being pulled through a straw, a crushing pressure that squeezed the air from his lungs. Colours flashed by—red, green, blinding white—and the sound of screaming wind filled his ears.
Then, he hit solid ground.
Harry stumbled, dropping to one knee. The impact jarred him, but he scrambled up instantly, his wand raised, his senses on high alert.
He was standing in a wasteland.
The sky above was a bruised purple, swirling with thick, toxic clouds that blocked out any sun. Ash fell like snow, coating the ground which was cracked and dry, a barren plain that stretched out in all directions.
But it wasn't empty.
Scattered across the landscape were ruins. Twisted, broken structures that Harry vaguely recognized. There was a crumbling tower that looked like a distorted version of the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. There was a grand manor house that had been split down the middle, its insides spilling out like guts— Grimmauld, perhaps, or Lestrange Hall.
And everywhere, there were cages.
Thousands of them. Rusted iron cages hanging from gnarled, dead trees, or half-buried in the ground. Inside them were memories. Harry could hear them—shards of laughter, snippets of conversation, screams of pain.
"Bellatrix!" Harry shouted, his voice echoing flatly in the dead air. "Bellatrix!"
There was no answer, only the howling of the wind through the ruins.
Harry started to walk. He let his instincts guide him, following the pull of the dark magic. It felt stronger here, a pulsating beacon of malice that seemed to emanate from a massive, fortress-like structure in the distance. It was a castle made of black iron, spiking into the sky like a jagged wound.
He moved quickly, his boots crunching on the ash. As he approached the fortress, the obstacles began.
Shadows peeled themselves off the ground, forming into faceless, humanoid shapes. They lunged at him, their claws elongated and sharp.
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry roared.
Prongs burst forth, shattering the shadows like glass, the sheer magnitude of magic dispersing the abominations.
"Will," Harry muttered to himself, remembering Walburga's advice. "Impose my will."
He could not just cast spells; he needed to visualise the destruction of his enemies.
He reached the gates of the iron fortress. They were massive, adorned with snakes that writhed and hissed.
"Open," Harry commanded in Parseltongue, projecting his magic and intent into his voice.
The snakes froze. They looked at him with ruby eyes, sensing the authority of the speaker. Slowly, grudgingly, the massive gates groaned open.
Harry stepped into the courtyard.
It was a throne room. Or rather, a torture chamber masquerading as a throne room. The walls were lined with instruments of pain—racks, iron maidens, chains.
And in the centre, on a raised dais, sat the throne.
It was made of skulls. Human skulls. And chained to it was Bellatrix.
She looked... different. Younger. This was the Bellatrix of the memories Walburga had spoken of. Her hair was not matted, but thick and lustrous. Her face was unlined, though pale and terrified.
She was bound by chains of glowing red energy that wrapped around her throat, her wrists, her waist, digging into her spectral flesh. She was slumped forward, weeping silently.
Standing over her, with a hand resting possessively on her head, was a young man.
He was handsome, with dark, wavy hair and pale skin. He wore the robes of a noble lord, the crest of the Slytherin family displayed proudly above his heart, pristine and sharp. But his eyes... his eyes were not human. They were red, with vertical slit pupils.
Tom Riddle. The Parasite.
He looked up as Harry entered, a charming, cruel smile spreading across his face.
"Harry Potter," Riddle said, his voice smooth as silk, echoing around the vast chamber. "I wondered when you would come. I felt you... scratching at the door."
Harry stopped ten paces away; his wand trained on Riddle's heart. "Let her go, Tom."
Riddle laughed, a cold, high sound. He stroked Bellatrix's hair, and she flinched, a whimper escaping her lips. "Let her go? Foolish boy, she is mine. She gave herself to me. Body, mind, and soul."
"She was forced," Harry spat. "You broke her mind and planted yourself inside like a cancer."
"I improved her," Riddle corrected, his eyes flashing. "I took a wilful, chaotic girl and forged her into a weapon of absolute loyalty. I gave her purpose. I gave her power."
He leaned down, whispering into Bellatrix's ear. "Tell him, Bella. Tell him who you belong to."
Bellatrix lifted her head. Her eyes were glazed, swimming with tears. She looked at Harry, but she didn't seem to see him. "I... I belong to the Dark Lord," she recited, her voice a robotic monotone. "I am his servant. I am his vessel."
"See?" Riddle smirked.
"Shut up," Harry growled.
He didn't wait for a duel to start formally. He slashed his wand through the air.
"Sectumsempra!"
An invisible blade of force slashed toward Riddle.
Riddle didn't even raise a wand. He simply raised a hand, and the air in front of him solidified into a wall of diamond. The curse shattered against it harmlessly.
"Crude," Riddle tutted. "This is the mind, Harry. Imagination is the only limit."
Riddle waved his hand, and the stone floor beneath Harry's feet turned into a pit of writhing vipers.
Harry didn't panic. He imagined fire. Not just fire, but a sun.
"Incendio Solis!"
The floor erupted in white-hot flames, incinerating the snakes in an instant. Harry rose on a pillar of fire, hovering above the dais.
"Get out of her head!" Harry shouted. He gathered his will, visualizing the chains binding Bellatrix shattering. He pushed that image forward with a pulse of pure magic.
The red chains vibrated. A crack appeared in one of the links.
Riddle's smile vanished. "You are annoying."
He transformed. The handsome boy melted away, replaced by a towering figure of shadow and smoke, a monstrous, serpentine demon with blades for fingers. He lunged at Harry, moving faster than thought.
The impact was like being hit by a train. Harry was thrown backward, smashing into the iron wall of the fortress. Pain exploded in his mind—not physical pain, but the searing agony of a mental attack. He felt Riddle trying to tear through his Occlumency shields, trying to find his darkest memories to use against him.
Ted Tonks dying. His friends abandoning him. Sirius falling through the veil. Cedric's dead eyes. His mother's scream. His father's lifeless eyes.
The images flashed before Harry's eyes, weaponized.
Harry grit his teeth, forcing himself to stand. "No," he snarled. "I own those. You don't get to use them."
He pushed back. He summoned the image of the ritual room. Of Narcissa holding the crystal. Of Andromeda waiting. Of Fleur's fierce concentration.
"I am not alone," Harry declared.
He raised his loyal wand.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
The green light that erupted from Harry's wand was blinding. It was not a spell of death, but a spell of ending. An ending to the bond.
Riddle screamed. He tried to block it with a shield of darkness, but the green light pierced through it. It struck the shadow-demon in the chest.
The demon didn't die. It was a piece of a soul; it couldn't die easily. But it was blasted backward, pinning it against the throne of skulls.
Harry didn't stop. He flew forward, closing the distance. He landed on the dais, right in front of Bellatrix.
Riddle was reforming, the shadows knitting back together. "You cannot defeat me here! I am the Lord of this mind!"
"A cunt is what you are," Harry snarled.
He grabbed the red chains binding Bellatrix with his bare hands, his wand going back into his holster. They burned him, searing his spectral flesh, but he didn't let go. He poured his magic into them—his own chaotic, powerful, protective magic.
"Bellatrix!" Harry shouted, looking into her glazed eyes. "Wake up! Look at me!"
Bellatrix blinked. The robotic haze wavered. She saw him. Really saw him. The green eyes. The scar. The sheer, overwhelming power radiating from him.
"Harry?" she whispered, her voice her own for the first time.
"Fight him!" Harry commanded. "Reject him! Push him out!"
Riddle roared, lunging forward, his shadow-claws aiming for Harry's back.
Harry didn't turn. He kept his eyes on Bellatrix, channelling everything he had into the chains.
Bellatrix's face twisted in agony. She looked at Riddle, then back at Harry. She felt the warmth of Harry's hand on the chains. She felt the difference between the cold, suffocating ice of Voldemort and the burning, fierce fire of Harry Potter.
She screamed. It was a scream of primal rage.
"GET OUT!"
Bellatrix threw her head back, and a pulse of purple shockwave exploded from her chest.
It hit the chains at the same moment Harry crushed them with his magic.
CRACK.
The sound was deafening, like a mountain breaking in half. The red chains shattered into a million sparks of light.
Harry spun around, just as Riddle was about to strike. He would not be able to draw his wand fast enough.
'Imagination is the only limit,' Harry remembered Walburga's advice. Imagination.
Harry didn't use a spell. He drove his fist, wreathed in golden light, straight into the shadow-demon's face.
"OUT!"
The force of the blow, combined with Bellatrix's rejection, was too much. The parasite was untethered.
Riddle shrieked, a sound of pure frustration and hate. His form began to dissolve, pulled upward by the vacuum created by the broken ritual.
"This isn't over, Potter!" the shadow howled as it was sucked into the grey vortex of the sky.
"It is for you," Harry panted.
The fortress began to crumble. The sky began to lighten, the purple clouds breaking apart to reveal a calm, white void.
Harry turned back to Bellatrix. She was slumped on the dais, free of the chains, but fading fast. Her spectral form was becoming transparent.
"Bellatrix," Harry said urgently, kneeling beside her. "Stay with me."
She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, filled with awe and a terrifying amount of vulnerability. She reached out, her hand passing slightly through his arm before solidifying.
"You..." she whispered. "You came for me."
"I promised your sisters," Harry said. "Come on. We have to go back."
He grabbed her hand. The world dissolved again.
~ Harry Potter ~
"'OLD 'IM!" Fleur screamed, her voice straining wiz effort.
In the ritual room, chaos had erupted.
Harry's body had arched off the floor, his back bowing in an impossible curve. Bellatrix was thrashing violently against the restraints, foam bubbling at the corners of her mouth.
The runic circle was glowing with a blinding, angry red light. Sparks showered down from the ceiling as the ambient magic reacted to the violent expulsion of the soul shard.
"Ze parasite is detaching!" Apolline shouted, her 'ands glowing blue as she poured energy into Bellatrix's chest. "It is ripping ze core! She is going into magical cardiac arrest!"
"Contain it!" Walburga roared from the portrait. "Do not let the shadow escape into the house! Destroy it as it emerges!"
Above Bellatrix's body, a black, oily smoke began to seep from her mouth and eyes. It swirled, forming a screaming face—Voldemort's face.
Fleur didn't hesitate. She abandoned her position, sprinting to the center of the circle. She whipped her wand in a complex, slashing motion, unleashing the spell Harry had instructed her to use.
"Ignis Caelestis!"
A controlled burst of white flames, erupted from her wand. It wasn't the wild, consuming fire that was usually used, like Fiendfyre. This was torrent of precise flames that were used to purify cursed objects. The fire washed over the coalescence of black smoke.
A high, piercing sound echoed throughout the chamber that shattered the glass of the potions vials on the nearby tables.
The fire consumed it. The shard of the parasite, without a host, withered and burned, dissolving into nothingness.
Fleur cancelled the spell instantly, sweating profusely. "It is done! The shard is gone!"
But Bellatrix was still thrashing. Her body was convulsing in a grand mal seizure, her heels drumming against the stone altar.
"She is fading!" Narcissa cried, abandoning her monitoring crystal to rush to her sister's side. "The shock is too great! Her magic is collapsing!"
Harry gasped, his eyes snapping open.
He sat up on the floor, gasping for air, clutching his chest. He felt like he had been run over by the Knight Bus. But he heard Narcissa's scream.
He scrambled to his feet, swaying drunkenly. He looked at Bellatrix.
She was dying. He could feel it. The void left by the parasite was imploding, dragging her life force with it. She was like a building with its foundation removed.
Harry stumbled to the altar. He pushed past Fleur and Narcissa.
"Move," he croaked.
He placed his hands on Bellatrix's chest, directly over her heart.
He didn't know the spell. There was no spell for this. He just knew he had to fill the void. He had to stop the collapse.
He pushed his magic into her.
Not a trickle. A flood.
He tapped into the deep well of power that made him the Chosen One. He tapped into the Black family magic that recognized him as Lord. He poured himself into her.
"Live," Harry commanded, his voice vibrating with power. "I didn't beat him just for you to die. LIVE!"
The magic rushed out of him, visible as a torrent of golden light. It flowed into Bellatrix's chest, filling her veins, her magical core, her mind.
It was an intimate act. More intimate than sex. He was knitting his essence with hers, patching the holes in her soul with his own energy.
Bellatrix's back arched one last time. Her eyes flew open.
They were black, the pupils blown wide.
She gasped, a huge, rattling intake of breath.
The thrashing stopped.
Silence fell over the room instantly. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the occupants and the soft crackle of the dying candles.
Harry slumped forward, his forehead resting on Bellatrix's sternum. He was empty. Drained.
"Harry?" Narcissa whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
Harry lifted his head. He looked at Bellatrix.
She was staring at him.
Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. Her skin was flushing pink, the pallor of death receding. But it was her eyes that held him.
The madness was gone. The chaotic, frenzied look that had defined Bellatrix Lestrange was absent.
In its place was something else. Something intense.
She looked at Harry not as an enemy, not as a boy, but as the sun around which her entire universe now revolved.
The tether had snapped into place. Harry had poured so much of himself into her to save her that her soul had latched onto his signature. The devotion she had been forced to give Voldemort had been wiped clean, leaving a vacuum that Harry had filled.
But where Voldemort had demanded fear and slavery, Harry had given life and protection.
Bellatrix lifted a trembling hand. She reached up, her fingers brushing Harry's cheek.
"My Lord," she whispered. The voice was husky, broken, but filled with a terrifying amount of adoration. "You saved me."
Harry blinked, pulling back slightly. "Bellatrix? Are you..."
She sat up slowly, the blanket falling from her shoulders. She ignored Narcissa. She ignored Fleur. She ignored her aunt's portrait.
She only saw Harry.
She scrambled forward on the altar, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. She began to weep, but they weren't tears of pain. They were tears of relief.
"You came into the dark," she sobbed into his robes, clutching him as if he were the only solid thing in the world. "You broke the chains. You burned him. Oh, Harry... oh, my beautiful Lord..."
Harry froze, his hands hovering uncertainly over her back. He looked at Narcissa with wide, panicked eyes. 'What is happening?'
Narcissa looked stunned, but then a dawn of understanding crossed her face. She looked at Apolline.
"Ze bond," Apolline murmured, stepping forward, wiping sweat from 'er brow. "'E filled ze void too quickly. She 'as imprinted on 'im. It is… extreme. But she is alive."
Bellatrix pulled back, her hands cupping Harry's face. She looked at him with a fanaticism that rivaled her previous state, but this was different. It was soft. It was desperate. It was love, distilled into its most volatile form.
"I am yours," she swore, her eyes darting over his features, memorizing every scar. "I will burn the world for you. I will kill anyone who touches you. I am yours, my lord. Yours."
Harry swallowed hard. "Okay. Okay, Bellatrix. Let's... let's dial it back a notch. Just breathe."
Bellatrix nodded frantically. "Yes. Breathe. Whatever you say."
She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then her gaze drifted past Harry.
The iron door creaked open.
Andromeda stood there. She was leaning heavily on the doorframe, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed. She wore a dressing gown, looking frail but determined.
Bellatrix looked up. When she saw Andromeda, she flinched violently, as if struck. She tried to scramble backward on the altar, curling into herself.
"Andi," Bellatrix whimpered, hiding her face in her hands. "No, no, no... don't look at me. Don't look at the monster."
Andromeda walked into the room. Her steps were slow, painful. She walked past Fleur, past Harry, right up to the altar.
"Bella," Andromeda said softly.
"I killed him," Bellatrix sobbed into her hands, rocking back and forth. "I killed Ted. I killed Siri. I tried to kill Nymphadora. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
Andromeda reached out and pulled Bellatrix's hands away from her face. She forced her older sister to look at her.
"The monster killed Ted," Andromeda said, her voice shaking but firm. "My sister died twenty years ago. And tonight... tonight she came back."
Narcissa, tearing up just like her older sisters, joined the two as she held Bellatrix from behind. Andromeda leaned in and kissed Bellatrix's forehead.
That broke the dam completely. Bellatrix wailed, collapsing into her sisters. Narcissa and Andromeda held her, the three Black sisters forming a knot of grief and reconciliation on the dark stone altar.
Harry stood and moved away, watching from a few feet afar, feeling like an intruder in a sacred moment. He felt drained, his magical core aching, his head pounding.
He felt a hand interlocking with his arm as someone leaned against him. He turned to see Fleur. She looked exhausted, but her blue eyes were warm.
"You did a good thing, 'Arry," she whispered.
"Did I?" Harry murmured, looking at Bellatrix, who was now clutching the robes of her sisters but keeping her eyes fixed on Harry with that intense, terrifying devotion. "I think I just traded one problem for another."
"She is alive," Fleur said firmly. "And she is free of 'Im. Ze rest… ze rest can be 'ealed. Wiz time."
Harry nodded wearily.
"Never doing that again," Harry mumbled, leaning his weight against her. "My head feels like a Bludger hit it."
"Come," Fleur said softly. "You need rest. Zey need time."
Narcissa looked up from the huddle. Her face was wet with tears, but her smile was genuine. "Harry. Thank you."
Harry nodded. He looked at the sisters one last time. Bellatrix had her head buried in Andromeda's shoulder, weeping softly, while Narcissa stroked her hair. But even as she cried, Bellatrix's eyes darted up, locking onto Harry.
She watched him move toward the door. Her gaze was intense, possessive, terrified that he might disappear.
Harry stopped. He looked back at her.
"I'm not leaving, Bellatrix," he said softly. "I'm just going upstairs. You're safe here. Narcissa will bring you up when you're ready."
Bellatrix nodded, clutching Andromeda tighter. "Safe," she whispered. "Safe with Harry."
"Master Harry," she whispered as turned towards him again, the name sounding like a prayer on her lips. "I am yours. My life is yours. Command me."
Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Bellatrix, for the first command... I want you to sleep. Just sleep. No nightmares. Just rest."
She blinked. "As you command."
And just like that, her eyes rolled back, and she slumped against Narcissa, falling into a deep, exhaustive slumber. The kind that can only be brought along by years of having a parasite chaining your very existence.
Harry turned and began walking out of the ritual room, Fleur there beside him, with Apolline and the elves trailing behind.
As they ascended the spiral stairs, leaving the heavy magic of the dungeon behind, Harry looked at the stone walls of Grimmauld Place.
"Kreacher," Harry croaked.
"Master?" The elf appeared at the front instantly, looking at Harry with awe.
"Bring me a Firewhisky. The whole bottle."
"At once, Master Harry."
The house felt different. Lighter. The oppressive darkness that had clung to the stones for so long seemed to have lifted, chased away by the act of redemption that had just taken place.
He had saved her. He had saved the enemy.
And in doing so, he had gained a weapon— a devotee —more powerful than Voldemort could ever dream of.
Tonight, the House of Black was whole. And the Dark Lord had lost his greatest prize.
Author's Note
A little rushed, so the fight scene is a little short, still figuring out action as a concept. See you in the next one.