Chapter 13: The Man Standing Back. Part 2
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5 July 1995. Black Mansion.
Sirius Black paused hesitantly by the casements that hid the portrait of his long deceased mother from view. In his mind, he relived over and over again the last conversation they'd had, when he'd abandoned the ideals of the family and joined Dumbledore's supporters. However, things had started to heat up between them when the rebellious Black had enrolled in Gryffindor, instead of studying at Slytherin or, at the very least, Ravenclaw, as befitted the offspring of an old, dark family.
His mother had cursed him then, saying he would regret changing sides, but Sirius had only laughed in the dark witch's face, and now he was slowly realising where his support of the dearest Dumbledore had led him. Years in Azkaban on bogus charges. A godson in the hands of magic-hating guardians, and thank Merlin that Harry had had the sense to get out of England for a while, fooling all the spies assigned to him and rubbing the Headmaster's nose in it. The Headmaster's dislike of the knowledge of the old pureblood families and his policy of simply declaring many things to be black magic and destroying them, while the Muggleborns and half-bloods who had little understanding of truly powerful and complex magic were happy to follow a wise mentor who was very good at brainwashing all the students at Hogwarts. Sirius had nothing against the Muggleborns themselves, as well as the aristocrats who didn't belong to the radicals, but their disrespect for tradition, their unwillingness to understand that aristocrats held on to the purity of blood for a reason, preserving ancestral knowledge and abilities, irritated him. The main trouble was that Dumbledore's supporters were actively destroying this knowledge, trying to lead everyone they could reach to a more "free" life and free choice. Even the very Weasleys, now openly despised by Sirius, had once been a fairly strong family with many secrets, but... having joined Dumbledore and diluted their blood too much, they had lost their housekeepers, their family magic, and then their fortune along with their position in society. The deaths of the last Pruetts, Potters, and many other worthy people, descendants of ancient and famous families who had joined the Order of the Phoenix in the First War, were also on the Headmaster's conscience - the people who had hoped for Dumbledore had become bogged down in endless talk, and the Order had not done any real good during the war.
Taking a deeper breath, Sirius reached for the barn lock on the casement. The fireplace was blocked, as were the front doors, the new layers of spells lay over the old house, leaving even a mage of Dumbledore's level blocked from entering the house. And all it took was to spill a handful of blood of the heir to the Bleak family in a spell room deep underground. Even Dumbledore couldn't get in there - only members of the family could gain truly complete control of the mansion's magic, easily destroying the Fidelius created by the Headmaster. But a couple of minutes later, the Fidelius created by Sirius himself fell on the house, so the safety of the family nest did not suffer.
- You vile traitor to the clan! Disgrace to my grey hair! - The first thing Sirius heard from the portrait.
- You are right, Mother. - He replied briefly to Walburga, who was staring at the last Bleek from the canvas in fury. Such a start to the conversation made the infuriated sorceress choke on a pre-prepared phrase. - You were right about everything, and I was wrong. But don't expect me to give up the memory of James Potter - he was a true friend and comrade-in-arms.
- So you did turn your brains on after all, son. - Stiffly looking at her offspring, the witch stretched out. - And what made you question your judgement at the time?
- Dumbledore betrayed me, and sent me to Azkaban for twelve years on false charges. - Sirius grinned bitterly. - And when I managed to escape - did nothing to exonerate me, even though he had the testimony of my godson and his friends that that lousy rat Pittegrew was still alive.
- And what do you want from me and from yourself now? - The witch looked at her son with some excitement.
- To restore the magic and glory of the ancient family. And become its rightful head. - Followed the stiff reply of the prodigal son returning to the family after twenty years.
Same day. Delacourt Manor.
I looked excitedly at the portal in front of me in the form of a small statue of a tiger with a grinning mouth. I had carefully prepared for this visit, dressed in an expensive robe, but I was still a little nervous about meeting the most dangerous mage in France and perhaps all of Europe.
- Good luck," Fleur stood beside me and kissed me on the cheek.
With the last beat of the clock, the portal took me from the hospitable Delacourt estate into the unknown.
When the swirl of colours in my eyes subsided somewhat, I found myself standing in a completely empty room, seemingly carved into the heart of a granite cliff. Only a pair of lamps under the ceiling illuminated the small room, the walls shaking with the magic that filled them. I sympathised in advance with anyone who tried to force their way through the portal room.
A bright light shone through the open door, which was almost as thick as my leg and covered with runic patterns. I took a deep breath and adjusted my robe around my shoulders, and walked forward.
The narrow corridor that opened before me was astonishingly ascetic - bare stone walls with steel hooks and brightly burning magical lamps stuck into them, runic patterns on the walls, floor, and ceiling, glowing with energy. Apparently the next stage of the castle's defence.
And finally - the living quarters - a huge ballroom, with walls covered with time-darkened banners and standards, arranged around the perimeter polished steel and even silver armour with glittering blades in their hands. A large fireplace burned in the far side of the building, casting a fanciful glare on the polished floor and the armour along the walls. A man in a grey robe sat in one of the three armchairs near the fireplace with his back to me.
I walked slowly forward through the empty hall, imagining what this place would have looked like in the past, with the lamps burning brightly and the many guests glittering with jewellery. Glancing up, I noticed that the ceiling was made of mirrors, now dusty and clouded. There seemed to be an eternal longing in this room, the longing of an almost deserted half-intelligent ancestral castle for times long past.
- Welcome to the Cimus House, young master," the calm voice of the master welcomed me as I stepped into the circle of light cast by the fireplace. The man rose from his chair and turned towards me, revealing a narrow face with a Spanish beard, a scarred right cheek that looked as if it had been slashed by a clawed paw with a dozen fingers. The mage looked far short of his two hundred years; at most, I'd give him about thirty, if it weren't for the completely grey hair.
I bowed as respectfully as I could to the head of the Cimus family.
- Lord Aurelius Cimus, I am pleased to welcome you and pay my respects.
- It's nice to see a good upbringing from the scion of an ancient and noble family, Mr Potter, though Lord Potter would be more accurate. - With a gesture of his hand, my host motioned for me to sit down. Obeying his command, some strange scaly creature with huge claws brought a tray of drinks and a small table.
The mage took a glass of wine in his hands and looked at the fire through the ruby liquid. I remained silent, looking at him.
- I have been informed of the matter that led you to ask for my help, Mr Potter. Old man Martignac, though a light mage, still found something really interesting that piqued my curiosity as well. It's been a long time since I've seen such magic, a very long time....
- But let's get down to business, Mr Potter," he said, when he saw that I had taken my glass too, and was getting used to the unfamiliar place. - Judging by that ineffable scent of death that stinks from your scar, there is a so-called Horcrux in your head....
- Horcrux? What is it?
- It is a tool that only a very few mages of the past and present have dared to use... and even fewer have been able to create them properly... - Cimus sipped his wine, savouring the bouquet with pleasure, and continued. - A Horcrux allows, after a certain ritual, of course, to bring its creator back to life.
I almost choked on my wine.
- What do you mean?!
- You'd better let me finish, young master, and then you'll understand everything yourself... A Horcrux is a piece of a torn soul placed in some object, in your, I admit, unique case - in your head. The downside of using Horcruxes is that a person's soul regenerates slowly, very slowly. And if you tear the soul into several parts at once, the person will turn into a monster, whose mind is filled only with anger and hatred. A skilful dark mage can safely create more than one Horcrux only at intervals of at least a couple of decades, and preferably not more than one in a hundred years. And your 'dark lord', not too old, by the way, created several of them literally five years before his first fall. - The mage squinted and looked at me. - A fall he owed to you. Perhaps that's what prevented him from making a truly workable Horcrux.
- How am I in danger of having a Horcrux in my head, Master Aurelius? - I tried to speak firmly, though the news of Voldemort's soul inside me was shocking.
- How to put it... For starters, if Voldemort tries to revive himself using your scar - you will most likely go insane, even if he fails to resurrect. Also at a short distance, especially in person, he will be able to break into your thoughts through any barriers. With some skill - will be able to enter your dreams, which also does not add to your chances of success.
- But perhaps there are some advantages... However, it is better for you to talk to someone who can see magic flows better than I can, despite my age and strength. - The mage concentrated, as if sending a challenge to someone.
The light clack of heels sounded behind me. I stood up, leaving my glass on the table. A young girl in a purple-red ball gown, her hair carelessly combed, was walking toward us from the far side of the room. As she stepped into the circle of light from the fireplace, only my lessons in etiquette allowed me to keep my face straight as I approached her for a kiss, as befitted a well-bred guest. The girl's eyes were as red as spilt blood, and her ears were stretched out to tell me that she was not human.
In spite of everything, my bow to the girl was polite, and the hand she extended to me for a kiss was soft and warm.
- Arrataya, let me introduce you to young Lord Potter, heir to the Potter family. - Aurelius introduced me in terms of etiquette to the mysterious stranger as if she were his wife, the mistress of the manor.
- Lord Potter, may I present Arrataia Cimus, my wife. - I was surprised to see a spark of real emotion in the impassive wizard's eyes as he shifted his gaze to the girl.
Arrataia stepped closer and casually wrapped her arms around my head, scrutinising the scar. For a second I thought she was going to touch it with her lips, but a second later the girl pulled away, sitting down in the chair by the fireplace that had been left unoccupied.
- Aurelius had said exactly that - it was a Horcrux. An unfinished Horcrux. But it can either be destroyed..." She licked her lips with a sharp, split tongue. - Or you can try to partially absorb the Horcrux with my help... In that case, you might get a small portion of the Dark Lord's knowledge, if there was any, and I will remove the rest of the Horcrux.
- What would I need to do that?
- In both cases, nothing much, Lord Potter," the girl's melodious voice was more mesmerising than the Weyrleader's charms. - You will need to share your blood with me. Just a little, about a glass.
- That's it? - My surprise was unbounded.
- That's all," Arrataia gave me a sly smile that suddenly transformed her face. - After all, who better to handle a piece of someone else's soul than... Well, you'd better not hear this," she smiled slyly again.
Aurelius pulled out a couple of vials of blood-restoring potion from somewhere and watched curiously.
I coldly extended my right hand to the girl. Arrataia sharply slashed her wrist with a curved claw that grew out of her finger and put her lips to the cut. Strangely, I felt no pain, but with each passing moment my head became more and more dizzy, filled with delirious visions, and flames flickered before my eyes. After a few seconds, the girl pulled away from my hand, which had a fresh scar on it, and placed her palm with spread fingers on my forehead. She stood up and faced me, hypnotising me with her blood-red eyes.
- Close your eyes," I relaxed against my will, surrendering to the witch's voice. My head became empty, thoughts, feelings, desires disappeared one by one. All that remained was Arrataia's voice and the strange sensation of something foreign to me.
- Find what is alien to you in this emptiness. - Again that marvellous voice, driving me mad. But, obeying the magical sounds, I moved closer to something leaving a sensation alien to my mind.
In the next instant, a fireball glowing purple appeared "beside" me, in that void. The ray-arms that extended from it clawed at the clot of darkness alien to me with a wild howl.
Another pair of rays slammed into what "was" me in the void. And it was as if something exploded inside me, rapidly changing, filling me with a new meaning that I could not yet comprehend.
The clot of darkness melted away, howling with pain or fury, its howling gradually turning into a shriek, deafening me who was "in there", but after a time that seemed endless to me, everything was over, and I opened my eyes, obeying the touch on my face, and saw Arrataia pressing her lips to my scar.
The girl in the chair was licking her lips, and I had a vague suspicion of who she might be if she'd done that to a scrap of the Dark Lord's soul, but I tried to keep the thought away - it was too frightening.
Running my palm across my forehead, I found that the scar that had adorned my head for years had vanished without a trace.
- Lady Arrataya, I thank you for your help. - I remembered the options Jean-Claude had given me, and tried to figure out what it would cost me. - But I wanted to know what I could do for you and your husband in return for this gift. - I bowed respectfully to the Tsimus couple.
- I think you've already paid part of your fee, Lord Potter," Arrataia laughed charmingly. - Your blood is very strong, and I could hardly resist drinking more than the agreed upon amount.
- But still?
- If you can get me the volunteer blood of a white unicorn... and share another glass of your blood, Lord Potter, - then I will be even with you.
I turned to Aurelius, catching the hint in her words, "And you, Lord Cimus?" I said.
The mage silently handed me a scroll, which I signed after looking at the amount, thus forfeiting nearly three-quarters of the Potters' free money from the Potters' baby safe. The sum, which was a fortune to many mages, seemed to me an insignificant payment for the release of the Dark Lord's soul.
- By the way, Lord Potter," Arrataia stopped me on my way to the portal room. - I strongly advise you to drink a couple of sips of unicorn blood - it will restore your health permanently, including your eyesight. Just remember, it's voluntary blood... And spend a couple of days without too much exertion... During that time you'll probably be a bit... out of shape until your magic recovers from the effects of the Horcrux.
Once the young man had returned to Delacourt Manor, Arrataia sat down in the chair next to her husband and said thoughtfully:
- Interesting man...
- He will do well, the boy has quite a lot of potential. - Aurelius half-heartedly understood her unspoken question. - I don't think he'll need any help.
- And he has incredibly tasty blood... Even tastier than yours, sorry," she stroked the man's scarred cheek affectionately.
The mage grinned.
- You know, I don't think it upsets me too much.
Once I was inside the manor, I was relieved to catch my breath - the atmosphere at the Chateau de Cimus was as foreign as a mountain of many kilometres.
- Mr Delacourt, now I understand why you didn't want Lord Zimus in your house. - That's all I was able to say before an incredible wave of weakness made me fall to the ground, losing consciousness.
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