It was time to activate the Portkey sent by Delacour. Taking it out of my pocket, I conjured the Plague Doctor attire over myself and got ready. The "I-phoenix" was also on alert and ready to relocate at the first necessity—it had left the house and, hidden by magic, was calmly sitting on the roof.
Funny, by the way—I'm using a Portkey for the umpteenth time, and it's starting to show its perks. Charms, like other magic, even the local kind, bear a sort of imprint of the intent put into them. I think it's about the very essence of witchcraft—no matter what formulas, runes, calculations, imagery, gestures, and other tricks a wizard uses to facilitate the process, the ultimate goal is always the same: manifesting the desired into reality. It is precisely this that allows an experienced wizard to simply wave a wand over an object to understand at least the vague nature of the magic on that object. Yes, it might be not just inaccurate, but extremely far from the truth, but a basic understanding, at least on the level of "is it safe to touch or not," is already a lot.
And so now, holding the coin in my hands, I felt a vague sense of the direction the Portkey would carry me. I can't feel the distance yet, but another twenty uses of such things and I think I'll be able to gauge the approximate distance too.
The Portkey activated, the world spun around me for a moment, and here I was, completely invisible, ending up a meter above thick dry grass mixed with snow, this composition playing whimsically with shadows, reflecting the half-moon's light. Even mid-flight I managed to look around and spot the wizards waiting to meet me; but it wasn't an ambush—just three wizards standing together waiting for my arrival, with a fenced-off estate and mansion behind them. The space was quite open, and most likely this was the reason for the lack of a snow layer—only a small amount was packed into the dry vegetation underfoot.
I really am good! To arrive invisible, without any special effects, and not even flatten the grass and snow beneath me—that's cool, that's powerful, that's elf-like! Found something to rejoice about, didn't I...
The wizards really hadn't noticed me, but now I could examine them in detail, and to my surprise, I couldn't help but recognize them, or rather, just the man and the woman I had already seen today in Knockturn Alley. The brute wasn't there, and that was a good thing—I'm sure he would have tried to pick a fight and a confrontation would have occurred, which I absolutely do not need.
The woman, just like during the day, was entirely in black. Her dress was of a strange cut, and the cloak did a poor job of hiding it. Disobedient strands of dry black hair poked out from under her deep hood, fluttering in the wind. Her face wasn't visible, but I knew for sure it was the same witch, and the faint, familiar sensation coming from her left arm, just like with Snape and Mr. Malfoy, left no room for doubt.
The second wizard didn't hide his face, but his clothes were also black, albeit a bit ostentatious. Black hair threaded with gray fell to his shoulders, unkempt and dry. The stubble on his face couldn't hide the overall severe emaciation of his body, yet there wasn't an ounce of fatigue or weariness in his darting gaze. Rather, it held a certain hyperactive streak of madness, a milder version of which I had seen in Black's eyes. And his face was familiar to me from the Prophet—Rabastan Lestrange.
The other wizard clearly could have boasted a solid, stocky figure in the past, but now he was a broad-shouldered coat rack. Rodolphus Lestrange, for it was indeed him, didn't differ much from his brother, except that he preferred a shorter haircut for his graying hair, and his gaze was indifferent, empty.
Dropping my invisibility, I didn't elicit a drop of surprise from the wizards, except that Rabastan's gaze stopped darting back and forth. He seemed a bit twitchy.
"Usually, I am not met," my voice was altered by magic and the mask, so I wasn't worried on that front; plus, I had taken Burke's words about my "movements" into account and adjusted them too, however slightly.
"There's a first time for everything," Rabastan said nervously.
"For starters," the witch pulled back her hood with both hands. "Why don't you stop hiding your face?"
The aesthete in me wept tears of blood looking at what Azkaban had left of this witch. An acquaintance of mine once said that a human is like an animal. You can judge their health by their "coat." Well, there wasn't much of that health left in Bellatrix Lestrange, though it was still holding the line on all fronts with its last ounce of strength. Her once thick, black curly hair had become dry, frizzy hay with a single streak of white. Her face was emaciated and withered, but even so, one could see her pedigree, as they say, and even in this neglected state, she could spit down on many from a great height.
With a crooked smirk, keeping her lips closed, Bellatrix examined me intently and quickly, shifting her weight onto one leg.
"I prefer to remain incognito."
"Even we aren't hiding our faces," the witch continued.
"Only the blind, deaf, and stupid don't know who you are. The true or not-so-true story about exactly who you are, and so on. But no one knows me, just as they didn't know you back in the day. I prefer to keep it that way."
"However..."
"Stop it, Bella," Rodolphus exhaled tiredly, continuing to stare with an empty gaze. "We all have a job to do, and the sooner it's done, the better."
"Be that as it may," the witch put a hand on her hip, "you're right. Rodolphus..."
"Follow me."
Rodolphus turned around, and we all walked toward the house. He touched the gates, and they creaked open, revealing a more than decent ancient mansion, darkened either by time, or curses, or perhaps both. The once beautiful garden was dead, and the bushes and trees had turned into caricatured, broken lines that looked even more illogical and wrong in the darkness of the night. You didn't have to go deep into the house to feel the multitude of minor and not-so-minor curses fused into some unbelievable mess. It was absolutely impossible to identify anything in this porridge, just as it was to speak with certainty about its age. Unraveling it into individual curses? Useless and thankless labor. And this house had been featured in one of the photographs in the materials I studied while searching for information on any reasonably significant wizarding families in England. Lestrange Manor. It was basically clear—they decided to "demine" their house, but in reality, it would be easier to burn it down with Fiendfyre. Hmm... For many, that would actually be the only possible solution.
"I think I understand what you want," I nodded as we walked a little way onto the grounds and stopped. "Just one question—why are you here?"
"At the very least," Bellatrix put her hands on her hips, "to let you inside. And out of considerations for..."
She waved a hand in the air, as if searching for words, and judging by the way she held her wrist, she was clearly missing a wand in her hand.
"...security, I suppose. The ancient house of an ancient and noble family is a place full of various secrets."
"Understood. So that I don't see or find what I'm not supposed to."
"Exactly," Bellatrix smiled again without parting her lips. Though, considering the details of her facial expressions, it was an insane, feral grin—that was the impression it gave off, even if you technically need to show teeth to bear them.
"There is no need for me to go inside. May I begin?"
"Why, of course."
I didn't bother taking out my wand—I simply extended both arms in front of me. An instantaneous and powerful exertion of will, a distortion of magic, and a vastly powerful dark energy, by local standards, began to stream between my fingers, starting to form a small cluster. It still had to condense into a drop and fall to the ground.
At that exact moment, the "I-phoenix" noticed movement a hundred meters from the house. Nothing surprising—it wasn't late at night yet, someone returning from the shops, things like that. But with keen eyesight, the "I-phoenix" recognized the brute from Knockturn Alley, who had popped out of nowhere and was purposefully moving toward my parents' house, twitching his nose as if sniffing. Are there such coincidences in timing? I don't think so.
I didn't distract myself from the work, continuing to concentrate on the magic, only glancing out of the corner of my eye at the wizards standing nearby. Bellatrix broke into an even more insane smile, anticipating who-knows-what, while the two male representatives of the Lestrange family... Well, they remained exactly the same as before, except their hands were reaching for the wands in their sleeves. Not to attack—just from the sensation of the dark magic in my hands. Such sensations inherently provoke a "fight or flight" reflex, and these guys clearly belonged to the first group of people, not the latter.
The pitch-black drop plummeted to the ground, touched it, and immediately began sprouting into thin black lines extremely quickly. They spread rapidly everywhere—across the ground, into the trees, the stone of the fountain and benches, all over the house. I clearly felt the curses, as well as a dozen and a half other enchanted objects that weren't part of the "curse," so to speak—I left those alone.
The "I-phoenix" kept a close eye on Fenrir, who had almost come right up to the property. He broke into a grin as he noticed movement in the windows of my parents' house, drew his wand, and gave it a sharp flick. He was beyond the range of the defense system, so he was able to cast some bright purple spell, a slow clump compared to things like Stupefy, flying towards the house. This prompted me to make a mental note—self-deploying shield charms with a heuristic magical analysis function around the house...
The "I-phoenix," remaining invisible, instantly appeared in the path of the curse, or whatever it was, and cast Protego, taking the magic on the shield. Simultaneously, with a sliver of my consciousness, I activated one of the shurikens hidden on the ceiling of the house, guided it out through the chimney, and directed it at Fenrir's head at tremendous speed.
The animal surprised me—relying on reflexes and animal instinct, he dodged, and the shuriken merely left a scratch on his face. But no matter how fast this werewolf was, my brain worked faster, and the shuriken along with it. An instantaneous change of trajectory, and Fenrir's head received a through-and-through vertical wound, incompatible with life. But his head didn't blow to pieces like an ordinary wizard's would—werewolves are still tougher than humans, even in this form.
From the spot where the black drop had fallen, a stem bearing a Lotus began to form—an absurd thing from a botanical standpoint, but nevertheless. With an exertion of will, I helped the Lotus absorb all the necessary curses and magic from the surrounding grounds and from the house, and then the flower bloomed, and the roots, the black lines stretching everywhere, began rapidly contracting towards it. Only a triviality remained, and the issue would be resolved.
The "I-phoenix" flashed over to Fenrir's corpse, grabbed it with its talons, and teleported high, high above the Lestrange house—at such an altitude, it would be difficult to spot me even with an "armed" eye.
Reaching out to the Lotus, I touched it, and it instantly absorbed the stem into itself. Now only the open Lotus remained in my hand, and all the curses around, as well as the traces of the Lotus's activation, simply vanished.
"It's done," I turned to the wizards, who were surprised by such swift work. "I assume I should expect payment in the near future."
"Not too shabby..." Bellatrix tilted her head slightly to the side, putting her hands on her hips again. The Lestranges didn't quite know how to react. "Quite clever—not unraveling or sorting anything out. Brute force, yet very delicate."
"To do that, you simply need to understand a couple of specific nuances of Dark Magic and be a powerful wizard, Lady Lestrange."
"Hmm... The payment will arrive in the agreed-upon amount. I suppose..." Bellatrix glanced at the gates a meter away from us. "There's no need to see you out?"
At these words, it suddenly became obvious to me personally just how badly the Lestranges wanted to get inside the house, and only some modicum of upbringing and politeness stopped them from rushing in there at top speed.
"All the best."
"Likewise."
I left the grounds, not letting my guard down for a moment, which, as it turned out, was unnecessary. Apparating to a random familiar location, I allowed my phoenix-self to drop the "gift from the heavens" onto the Lestrange house, after which I began a series of spontaneous Apparitions to cover my tracks—after that, I could return to Hogwarts. I really wonder what draws all of them to try and harm my defenseless—from the wizards' perspective—relatives? Is the place smeared with honey or something? I don't get it. And the fact that Fenrir appeared near the house at the exact moment I started working on the curse is definitely no coincidence. Well, let them scrape him off... wherever he lands. Ah, it doesn't matter. I want to go to the Hogwarts kitchens, get a meat pie, and sleep.
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