======= Part 45. Death on the Azure Coast ==========
Helen Askwith rearranged the documents on her desk. She would take this stack to the minister for his signature today, because they had been requested by respected wizards, but this one could wait. Minister Fudge never liked complaints, demands, requests, and other rubbish. He loved power, galleons, and pretty women more than anything else.
Unfortunately, Helen had never managed to catch his interest. Fudge saw her as a thoroughbred horse with an outstanding exterior that was nice to show off to other men. She was useful, smart and impressive, but the wizard would never ride her himself, simply because he did not want to ruin their business relationship.
"Helen, bring some tea, please," Cornelius burst into the reception room and disappeared into his office.
Askwit rose gracefully, quickly poured Darjeeling tea from the always warm kettle, and deftly placed a cup and saucer, a jam rosette, and a plate of Cornelius's favourite oatmeal cookies on a tray. Levitating the tray with the steaming drink in front of her, she adjusted her rather short skirt and elegantly entered the office.
"Your tea, Minister," Helen carefully placed everything in front of Fudge, who was sitting at the table. "Something happened? You look upset today," she cooed in a hoarse voice.
"We're in crisis, Helen," Fudge sighed. "That madman Dumbledore and his pet hero Harry Potter. They're both claiming that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, risen from the dead. Can you imagine, my dear? And the most dangerous thing is that they've infected half of Hogwarts with their nonsense. They've scared the representatives of Beauxbaton and Durmstrang. That mad old man has done everything to discredit England and my good name. Oh, Merlin, I've endured a lot, allowing him to do whatever he wants at Hogwarts.
Helen leaned gracefully against the table and listened attentively to Fudge, nodding sympathetically.
"He allowed a mad Death Eater to teach for a whole year, disguised as the equally insane Alastor Moody!" the minister frowned.
"Perhaps that's why no one recognised him?" Askwith smiled, swaying her prominent bust.
"It's Dumbledore's fault!" Fudge snapped. "When that madman Crouch kills one of Hogwarts' champions and nearly cripples the other right under the old man's nose? Where was our great wizard at the time?" The wizard angrily bit off a biscuit and snorted.
"You can handle it, Cornelius," Helen said seductively, flashing him her eyes. "You're the best minister magical England has ever had. Headmaster Dumbledore is a good man, maybe he's just tired? He's getting old... He's a wizard, like all wizards, he's capable of making mistakes.
"Ah, if only Lucius were in England, we could understand what society thinks about this," Fudge sighed sadly. "My dear friend is basking in the hot sun of the French Riviera right now.
"Lord Malfoy has an estate in France?" Helen joined the conversation.
"Yes, a small estate on the outskirts of the town of Saint-Cyr or Saint-Sur, I can't remember what the French call it. Lucius hasn't returned there since the attack on his wife.
Fudge carefully placed the empty cup on the tray, dabbed his lips with a napkin, and looked at Askwit with pleasure.
"Well, my dear, it's time to get to work. Bring me the documents to sign, and I'll see what important things our ministry has come up with today.
Helen smiled charmingly and walked gracefully towards the door, levitating the tray in front of her.
***
Hermione sat in a compartment with her "friends" and listened to the long-boring empty chatter with which Ron was trying to calm Potter.
"This time we'll try to get you away from your relatives right away, mate," the redhead muttered earnestly. "We'll spend the whole summer riding broomsticks and having fun. And Ginny will be very happy.
Harry replied listlessly, clearly not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts.
"The Dursleys will throw a fit again, just like they did when you took me away from Fred and George. They'll probably lock me up again and lecture me on why being a wizard is bad," Harry said, scratching the glass with his finger.
"You're the champion of the Triwizard Tournament and a national hero," Ron exclaimed indignantly. "How dare they treat you like that?"
"Well, my relatives think I'm some kind of house elf, since I was five," Potter grinned crookedly.
Hermione listened to the boys, remembering her last conversation with Viktor. The famous Seeker had invited her to visit him in Bulgaria that summer. He hinted at an intimate relationship, perhaps even an engagement in the future, if they were right for each other, but Hermione ended the conversation with a sharp slap when Viktor didn't understand her contemptuous refusal and tried to kiss her. She was very upset that Kram thought Hermione would happily throw herself at him and do whatever he asked. Now that she was the heir to her family, Hermione realized that there were many more opportunities for her in the magical world, and she had plans to continue her potions training with her grandfather over the summer.
In private lessons, Professor Snape transformed from a malicious, unsociable Slytherin into an incredibly talented genius scientist, capable of drawing anyone into the depths of boiling cauldrons and bubbling potions. The girl absorbed new knowledge like a sponge and was very upset that she had not been taught this way from the beginning. Now she had a much deeper understanding of the combinations of magical ingredients, the position of the stars when they were made, and much, much more...
The professor managed to instil in her a reverence for her subject, which began to grow into true love that summer. Even now, she wanted to slowly light the flame under the silver cauldron and add magical ingredients that could turn into a real miracle of magic with the help of a potion maker. She wanted to admire the magical golden sparks on the surface of the boiling potion again and again and smile dreamily when it was ready.
Professor Snape claimed that when her ancestral gifts awoke, everything would become much more natural, and she would be able to feel the hidden beauty of potions, their correctness and completeness. And even though she was just learning compatibility tables and general rules for preparing complex potions, she was already filled with anticipation of her transformation, wanting to finally experience what the usually unpleasant professor spoke of with such sparkle in his eyes. In those moments, he seemed to transform, shedding decades from his shoulders and becoming truly likable. It was clear that he himself was happy to have the opportunity to discuss his favourite topics with a student, with someone who understood him. Perhaps Snape simply missed lively conversation and, secretly rejoicing, also enjoyed teaching Hermione.
***
The Slytherin carriage was noisy. The usually quiet students were excited by the latest news. Almost the entire fourth year was gathered in this compartment.
"Soon it will be too difficult for all the mudbloods to study at Hogwarts," Pansy Parkinson smiled sarcastically. "What, Malfoy, are you already looking for a place to hide? The Dark Lord does not forgive traitors."
"Don't talk nonsense, Parkinson," Draco sneered. "If your parents decided to swear allegiance to the loser of the last war, we Malfoys always side with the winners.
Zabini smiled crookedly, picking up his juice mug.
"I fear that a new war is just around the corner, gentlemen," he exhaled. "And everyone will have to choose sides.
"We can't go with Dumbledore," Theodore Nott cut in, who had been staring gloomily out the window.
"But you're the only ones who can go to him," giggled Bulstrode. "Your family is too closely connected to the Malfoys. Just like yours, big guys," she nodded to Crabbe and Goyle. "You'll have to try very hard to earn His Darkest Power's forgiveness. Or do you think the government is capable of protecting anyone?"
***
In the ministry dining room, Helen was finishing her lunch when a paper airplane, used for internal communication within the building, landed neatly on her table.
"Today, as usual?" read the message, and Helen stretched languidly. The man with whom she liked to spend her free time was married and, at first glance, unattractive, but he was pleasant and fun to be with. Usually awkward and shy, with her he was transformed into a bold, confident man, who at times was so necessary to a beautiful woman free of obligations. Sighing again, she quickly scribbled a reply.
In a small room on the second floor of The Leaky Cauldron, Helen sat by the window, smoking leisurely. A tall red-haired man came out of the shower, drying himself off, and smiled at the girl.
"You look great as always, Arthur," Helen said, stretching contentedly.
"A man who had seven children can't be anything else," he said, kissing her on the cheek and hurriedly getting dressed.
"Ah, how nice it would be for us to be on the French Riviera right now, relaxing for a couple of weeks like the Malfoys," Askwit said, wrinkling her pretty nose in disappointment. "Some people are so lucky."
The man tensed slightly, pausing as he tied his tie.
"The Malfoys?" His face twisted unkindly.
"Yes," Helen exhaled cigarette smoke, not noticing his reaction. "Cornelius said today that they have an estate somewhere near Saint-Cyr or Saint-Sur, on the French Riviera."Apparently, they've decided to blow all the money they made while Lucius was a Death Eater," Arthur grinned crookedly.
"Don't start," Helen giggled. "But he doesn't have a beauty like me, and only a deaf person hasn't heard about the relationship between our families," she said, adjusting his tie and gently stroking his cheek.
"That's enough, the break is over, we have to hurry," the red-haired man hugged his companion. "Come on, dear, work is waiting."
***
Torfinn Rowley entered Weasley's office and, looking sad, placed the usual tape recorder on his desk.
"Arthur, please fix this thing. This damned Muggle device has stopped working again, and you know how much I love listening to Muggle music. Just don't tell anyone," the tall, fair-haired wizard smiled conspiratorially.
Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation and took out his wand. He and Rowley weren't friends, just colleagues, but they sometimes had a drink at the bar and shared gossip.
While Weasley was repairing the tape recorder, Torfin raved that a new era was coming and that real wizards would soon live more comfortably.
"We'll be equal to the old elite," the white-haired wizard said, his eyes shining with inspiration. "We'll create a better future for England.
"Yeah, we'll kick all the Malfoys out of their estates in Saint-Sur on the Côte d'Azur, make the goblins work honestly, and elect you minister," Arthur concluded sourly, handing him the tape recorder. "Hold on to it, Torfin, Muggle toys break easily. The spells will last a couple more months, then you'll have to throw it away.
"Thanks, you're a genius," Rowley bowed comically, taking the tape recorder. "I owe you one..."
***
Cassius stood at the station waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive. Magicians crowded around him, and he had already exchanged greetings with many of them, some with a simple handshake, others with a discussion of business matters. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, everyone waiting for the children to return from school. The locomotive appeared, and a couple of minutes later, Cassius was greeting his younger brother. Draco descended majestically, accompanied by his loyal vassals, and after saying goodbye to someone, he moved towards Cassius.
The brothers embraced, and they were joined by the parents of Crabbe and Goyle. Black caught a glimpse of Draco sadly watching Hermione walking away accompanied by other Gryffindors.
"See you next time, guys," waved the thin, black-haired Zabini, escorted by a fiery and very beautiful brunette — his mother. Daphne Greenhouse and her sister also nodded as they moved towards their parents standing by the columns. People gathered around the fireplaces, and little by little the station began to empty. Near the passage to the Muggle world, Potter's tousled head appeared, dragging a heavy suitcase and surrounded, as always, by his red-haired family. Cassius threw some flying powder into the fireplace and gave the address of the estate. A few minutes later, they were sitting at the table in the living room of Malfoy Manor, while the cheerful house elves busily set the table for dinner.
"What are your plans for the next few days?" Cassius asked, neatly tucking his napkin into his collar.
"I'm going to Mungo's to see my mentor," Draco replied slowly, chewing thoughtfully. "I'll continue to study the great art of healing!" He puffed out his pale cheeks dramatically.
"Yeah, right," Cassius grinned, "you and me, we complement each other. You heal the sick, and those you can't save, you give to my Loa as sacrifices.
Unexpectedly, Draco burst out laughing.
"You've become a real black wizard, brother... Just like your teacher... Only your skin colour is a bit off," Draco chuckled. "It's a shame I won't see Hermione until next autumn. She's going to her grandfather's in Suffolk and plans to spend the whole summer there learning potions. She's been kind of gloomy lately," he complained. "Ever since her grandfather visited, she's been distant. I don't understand what he could have told her.
Cassius's face darkened and he looked sympathetically at his brother.
"It's too early for you to know, but there are reasons preventing your relationship from progressing. My father and I are working on it, but it's too early to talk about any success yet.
"Tell me," Draco's eyes lit up with hope.
"You can't know," Cassius shook his head. "And not because you're too young," he stopped, ready to rebuke his brother. "It's just that your Occlumency is still weak. Dumbledore or Snape could easily read your mind if they wanted to.
"But my godfather would never do anything bad to me," the younger boy protested.
"True," Cassius nodded, "but he is also a servant of two masters. Father told me that he has both a mark and an oath to the headmaster. And that means," he waved his fork, "If Voldemort or Dumbledore order him to, Snape will still slit your throat, even knowing about the magical backlash through your connection as his godfather in magic.
Draco paled and dabbed his lips with a napkin.
"Do you think Potter was right when he yelled that the Lord was back?" His voice betrayed him, trembling slightly.
Cassius just shrugged.
"You're safe as long as you're at Hogwarts. The founders enchanted the castle so well that even their worst enemies could leave their children there without fear. The castle's magic won't allow anyone to seriously harm any of the students.
"Yeah, right," Draco sneered. "What about the petrified students a couple of years ago?"
"Well, they were disenchanted without any consequences for the magic," Cassius shrugged.
"I still don't believe it," muttered Draco. "Hermione, in her first year, was almost eaten by a troll in the girls' bathroom, and the ghost of Moaning Myrtle didn't just appear out of nowhere either.
"The defences are designed exclusively for pure-blood wizards," Cassius grinned ominously. "The founders considered only children of the magical world to be wizards. Half-bloods and mudbloods living among Muggles were no longer protected. Only those who hang on the headmaster's every word truly believe that Slytherin was a bad, dark wizard and that the other founders were suckers. For example, the symbol of my faculty, Sir Godric Gryffindor, cursed the goblins so badly that they are still sitting there like mice under a broomstick, and all their rebellions are a storm in a teacup.
"What if a professor attacks a student?" Draco asked in surprise.
"Mordred will take him, sooner or later," Cassius snorted. "The only one to fear is Voldemort. Who knows what's going on in that madman's head. The teacher said that filacteria is a path to nowhere. A wizard loses too much when he uses this crutch. There are many ways to achieve immortality, but some lead to a dead end. You, for example, will master magical medicine and prevent us all from dying," he saluted his brother with his glass.
Draco smiled smugly, raising his glass in response.
"To our family!" Malfoy exclaimed grandly.
Cassius smiled too and drained his glass.
***
It was late at night, the children had gone home, and the old wizard sat in his armchair by the fireplace, staring thoughtfully into the fire. The flames crackled softly, shadows danced across the room, the smell of the fire filled the air, and the phoenix dozed quietly, swaying on its perch.
Dumbledore mentally summed up the past year and made plans for the next, but his thoughts kept returning to what he had read in the mind of the late Crouch. It turned out that Tom had made a whole bunch of Horcruxes, tearing his immortal soul to pieces. And even though he had lost some of them or used them to restore himself, the ring, the locket and the cup still made him immortal. The Cruciatus curse from young Harry's mind had also disappeared, leaving behind a mental connection that allowed them to see each other's eyes. Therefore, Occlumency lessons with Severus would be mandatory for Potter next year.
"The only thing missing was Tom watching everything that was happening here from the front row, although he probably has no idea about this connection yet," thought the old wizard.
"I'll have to search for the Horcruxes myself," sighed Dumbledore, and the fire in the fireplace, as if hearing him, almost went out. The headmaster waved his hand, sent several logs into the fire, and the fireplace burst into life again.
"We can expect trouble from the Minister next year," grinned the great light. "A fighting hamster on the warpath. Let's see what our dim-witted Cornelius has in store for us."
***
In the great hall of Parkinson Manor, the echo of footsteps reverberated off the walls. The devourers glanced fearfully at the dark lord sitting on the throne in the centre of the hall, approached and knelt down.
"Greetings, my loyal servants," hissed Voldemort. "I am pleased to welcome you to this house.
Nagina, who had received even more dangerous-looking fangs as a reward after the ritual, rustled her scales and wrapped herself around the throne, resting her head on her master's shoulder. The Death Eaters responded with a discordant murmur of servile greetings and wishes for long life.
"Severus," ordered Voldemort. "You need to brew a lot of healing and combat potions over the summer. I think we'll need them next year.
Snape bowed his head silently.
"Parkinson, how are things going with bribing the Ministry bureaucrats? I need them to continue to ignore my return.
Parkinson cleared his throat and began his report:
"The officials are as greedy as ever, everything is going well. I even managed to make a deal with Fudge's closest aide, Dolores Umbridge. I promised this lady more power and opportunities to control magical creatures, whom she hates with a passion. She will support you wholeheartedly, my lord, when you rule England.
"What else? What are you thinking, Parkinson?" Voldermort hissed angrily, seeing his supporter's doubts.
"My lord," Parkinson sighed, trembling. "To bribe officials, we need gold, and I have already completely emptied my coffers.
The Dark Lord frowned angrily, looking at the Death Eater sprawled on the floor.
"All the gold in our organisation is with the Malfoys," Voldermort hissed viciously. "As treasurers, they were perfect, constantly increasing our funds, but when I left you for a while, they simply took everything for themselves!"
No one dared interrupt the Dark Lord, who was becoming increasingly enraged. His red eyes flashed, and he hissed maliciously:
"It's a pity we can't capture Lucius at his estate yet. It would cause too much commotion; they would receive confirmation of my return. It is still too early; we must gather all our forces.
"My lord," Rowley timidly spoke up. "Um...
"What are you mumbling about, Torfin," Voldemort encouraged him with a slight "sting." "Speak more clearly."
Rubbing his backside, the Devourer bowed again and said:
"My lord, I heard an official at the Ministry say that the Malfoys are in France.
"Show me, quickly," ordered the dark lord, and Rowley obediently looked him in the eyes.
Impatiently flipping through the Death Eater's memories, Voldemort carefully studied the moment when Torfin spoke to Weasley.
"Are you listening to Muggle music?" The snake-like face of the master twisted into a contemptuous sneer.
"Forgive me, my lord," Rowley broke out in a cold sweat.
"Crucio!" Voldemort barked, and the hall filled with agonising screams.
After enjoying the musical sounds of others' torment for a moment, the Dark Lord stopped the torture.
"So Lucius is in France," hissed the dark wizard. "Perhaps I should pay him a visit.
***
France, the Côte d'Azur, the Malfoy estate. The clear sea and bright sun provided pleasant relaxation.
"Help yourself, dear," Malfoy said, handing Narcissa, who was relaxing on a deck chair, a tall glass with a cool cocktail. Ice cubes clinked invitingly against the rim of the glass, and slices of lemon and mango gave off a pleasant aroma. Narcissa gratefully accepted the fogged-up glass and took the first and most delicious sip.
Here, on the estate, it was quiet and peaceful, the sea barely audible as it lapped against the shore, and there was no one else on the beach but the two of them. Narcissa hoped that the children would soon join them for a wonderful family holiday. She missed Cassius and Draco terribly and wanted to hug them. Of course, they had been sending each other owls regularly and communicating through the two-way mirror, but none of that could replace personal contact. Finishing her cocktail, Narcissa placed the glass on the table and got up from the deck chair. She felt like swimming, and, carefully stepping on the hot pebbles, she moved towards the water. Lucius watched his wife with admiration. Despite the passing years, she had lost none of her beauty or her magnificent figure. Moreover, Lucius thought that she had become even more beautiful with age. He smiled as he sipped his cocktail and looked up at the blue sky with pleasure. Lucius loved the French estate and understood his father better and better, who preferred to live here in peace and quiet. Of course, it was protected only by muggle-repelling spells, but what was there to fear for a powerful wizard? This place was made for relaxation and indulgence.
"Hello, my slippery friend," a hissing voice rang out above him, and Lucius jumped up from his deckchair in terror. Behind him, in a dark cloak, stood Voldemort himself, surrounded by sinister figures in silver masks.
"You hoped to hide from me, Lucius," Voldemort smiled sinisterly. "You stole our money and now you spend your time here?!"
Red eyes stared fiercely at the pale Malfoy.
"You know how I punish traitors, Lucius?" The Dark Lord's forked tongue flashed through his blue lips. "Now you'll tell me everything, my foolish fair-haired friend. Crucio!" The Dark Lord barked suddenly, and Malfoy, knocking over the table, writhed on the sand.
Narcissa had drifted far away, but she could still hear her husband's wild cry. Turning around, she was horrified to see several black figures standing on the shore, with Lucius lying at their feet. Suddenly, one of the wizards waved his wand in her direction, and two henchmen, turning into a black mist, immediately flew towards her. Grabbing her by the hair, the wizards quickly dragged the struggling woman ashore and threw her next to Lucius.
"Narcissa," hissed the leader, and she recognised the Dark Lord with horror. "Your husband betrayed me and even managed to remove the black mark. What's more, he stole the gold of the Walpurgis Knights. There can be only one punishment for that — death!"
Voldemort smiled maliciously, then pointed his wand at the blood-stained Lucius, who looked at him with hatred and hissed with some kind of twisted pleasure:
"Avada Kedavra!"
"No!" cried Narcissa through her tears, trying to break free from the hands holding her, but the poisonous green lightning had already struck her husband's chest, ending his life forever.
"Tell your son to come to me, accept the mark and start serving our organisation," Voldermort sneered. "Otherwise, I'll kill him next, skin him alive. And thank Merlin that your sister begged me to swear that I would never touch you. Otherwise, you would now know what happens to the wives of the defeated," Voldemort hissed, turning away. "I'll be waiting for him at the Parkinson estate," he spat out finally, disappearing in a swirl of apparition.
========== Part 46. You reap what you sow ==========
Albus rose from the pool of memories and sighed thoughtfully. It seemed very likely that Tom Riddle had desecrated the founders' relics when creating his Horcruxes. The diadem that Crouch had taken from Hogwarts matched the one in the paintings and sculptures of the founder.
"So the locket and the cup could also be relics of the founders," Dumbledore concluded.
At that very moment, a famous collector of magical rarities, Hepzibah Smith, a relative of Helga Hufflepuff, was murdered.
"Most likely, her death served as the basis for the creation of another Horcrux. We'll have to check everything," thought Albus. "Tom, Tom, why did you do this to yourself? Seemingly easy paths..."
Appearing in Little Hangleton, Dumbledore headed towards an overgrown wasteland. Here, hidden from Muggles, stood the half-ruined hut of the Gonts. Approaching the door, Albus saw a snake skin nailed to the doorframe and cursed under his breath. Even during his time at Hogwarts, the Gonts had stopped sending their children to school, and punishment had followed immediately. Now, no one remained of the family that had betrayed the agreement with the founders. And yet the Gonts traced their lineage back to Salazar Slytherin himself.
Carefully opening the crooked door with magic, Dumbledore bent down and went inside. Dust, ruin, cobwebs on the walls. It was clear that the building had been empty for many years. "The last Gont died in Azkaban, and no one has been here since," Dumbledore decided, carefully tracking all magical disturbances. The room was completely neutral, except for a slight emanation in one spot under the floor.
With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore made the rotten boards move aside and saw a large ring with a black stone lying on a piece of cloth. Carefully levitating it upwards, the old wizard smiled with satisfaction. Of course, the object emitted almost no radiation; it seemed magically neutral, and only the stone, in Dumbledore's perception, caused a sweet tremor somewhere deep inside. After checking the ring for any possible dangers with all the spells he knew, Albus carefully took it in his hand and brought it closer to his glasses. Through the cloudy black surface, a barely discernible symbol of death could be seen.
A black flash lit up, Dumbledore was struck as if by lightning, and an image appeared before his eyes, like a window into the past, where all his loved ones were still alive...
His long-dead sister Ariana, who had died so tragically, was now standing in the doorway of the Hut of the Pins and looking at him with sad eyes.
"Hello, Albus," she smiled warmly, the one who had caused him such torment over her death. "You've grown old, brother, but your eyes are still as bright as ever.
She ran her fingers along the edge of the cracked door.
"What brought you to this godforsaken place?" she laughed, brushing the dust off her hands. "Come on, tell me how you live here..."
The next moment, Albus realised that he was lying on the floor, a ring glowing ominously on his finger, and black veins of some kind of curse spreading up his wrist. "Mordred!" the old man cursed, trying to stop the magical infection from spreading and burn it out. The curse froze, stopped by a stream of light energy, but Albus realised that he would not be able to maintain his concentration while asleep, and as soon as he lost consciousness, the magic of the curse would finish him off.
"What should I do?" Panic raced through his mind.
Krestrazh, strengthened by the stone, rammed through Dumbledore's occlumental defence and forced him to put on the ring. There was one weak spot in the soul of the great light wizard — guilt over his sister's death, which this terrible artefact exploited. "Nothing," the old wizard gathered his strength. "Nothing is decided yet. I still have the option of performing the Flamel ritual and asking Death directly for eternity."
Continuing to hold back the curse with light energy, he summoned the phoenix and transported himself to Hogwarts. Feeling the power of the Hogwarts source, the wizard exhaled slightly, looking regretfully at his blackened hand. He couldn't remove the ring, and Dumbledore glanced around the office in irritation. Suddenly, there was a metallic rustling sound on the shelf where the magic hat stood, and a corrugated handle appeared from under the old rag covering it.
"The sword of Gryffindor!" Dumbledore exclaimed joyfully, jumping up from his chair. Taking the glowing artefact, he struck the ring without hesitation. The room immediately darkened, and a mournful howl escaped from the ring, followed by a grey shadow. The phoenix burst into flames, dispelling the darkness, and the howl dissolved into thin air. The broken trap lay on the table, and only the black translucent stone remained, completely intact. Smiling crookedly, Albus took the "resurrection stone" and put it in his inside pocket. "If the ritual works, then the curse cannot harm me, and if not, well, it is the will of the eternal Lady," thought the old man.
At almost midnight, Dumbledore moved to Yew Tree Drive in the suburbs of London and took the invisibility cloak from Potter's trunk. As usual, his relatives had locked the trunk in the closet under the stairs, not allowing Harry to use any magical nonsense. Albus apparated back to Hogwarts and went straight to the ritual hall. The house-elves had cleaned the long-empty room, and now everything sparkled with precious stones and polished surfaces. The central control stone, which conducted energy from the upper source, was carved from a single block of crystal and shimmered with millions of sparkling facets in the rays of the magical lamps.
Dumbledore approached and placed all three magical items on the altar: the Elder Wand, the Invisibility Cloak, and the Resurrection Stone.
Drawing the symbol of the Deathly Hallows on the surface of the altar with his own blood, the great light began to read a long quatrain calling upon Death. The altar glowed brighter and brighter, giving off a powerful stream of magic, Albus's white beard fluttered, his voice grew louder and louder, then the ritual came to an end, and a piercing silence fell. As if responding to the magic, the tower began to shake, paintings fell from the walls here and there, armour fell out of its niches, and even downstairs, in Filch's room, a bookcase with items confiscated from students fell over, and a minute later, everything stopped.
Dumbledore stood for a while longer in front of the extinguished altar, but felt nothing. The ritual had failed; there was no revelation in his mind, no otherworldly voice, no awareness of anything grand. The gods had no interest in mortals...
The old man hunched over, gathered the great magical artefacts with a trembling hand, sighed mournfully, and trudged upstairs. Now his life depended directly on how long he could stay awake.
***
Draco stared in horror at the mirror, which reflected the image of a crying Narcissa. The image trembled and shifted from side to side.
"He's been killed, son, he's dead!" the woman did not hide her hysteria. "The Dark Lord simply did not notice the estate's defences, appeared on the beach among us and killed your father."
Draco carefully placed the mirror on the table with trembling hands and clenched his fists. His eyes were dry, and a wave of frenzied rage and disappointment rose in the heart of the future healer. "How banal, when the worthy Malfoy defence had been set up on the estate itself back in Abraxas's time, and the beach and sea were covered with simple Muggle-repelling spells. Why didn't they just stay in the house at that moment?! The creature that killed Lucius must die the most terrible death," Malfoy gritted his teeth. Now, the first thing to do was to find his brother, go with him to France, scatter his father's ashes over the sea, and decide what to do next. Draco categorically refused to become a slave to the resurrected Voldemort, and he did not want his brother to either. It would be better for them to die.
***
There was a commotion in the great hall of Parkinson Manor. Devourers rushed back and forth, gathering weapons, potions, and artefacts. Everyone seemed to be preparing for something, and then the Dark Lord himself entered the hall with quick steps.
"Excellent," hissed Voldemort, standing in the centre of a multi-pointed star. "As soon as we get there, we attack. I'll deal with the Azkaban guards, and you move towards our allies and free them. You," he looked at Rowley and his squad, "kill the Ministry guards, spare no one. If anyone shows cowardice or mercy, I will personally feed them to the Dementors. When you're ready, begin..."
At the edge of the island, in a bright flash of a portal of immense power, a large group of wizards wearing Death Eater masks appeared.
"Faster, faster," the leaders of the fives urged their subordinates, and the entire black mass rapidly spread across the territory.
Voldemort remained standing in place and raised his hands to the sky. Suddenly, a colossal black beam shot from his wand into the wall of Azkaban, tearing a huge chunk out of the majestic building. The Dementors circling above rushed down, spreading a terrifying cold, but froze, never reaching Voldemort, who was only a few dozen metres away.
"Why have you come here, Dark Lord?" echoed in his head.
"I have come to free my followers and give you the opportunity to drain everyone I point out. When I seize power, you will get many more souls than you have now. I will even allow you to hunt in the Muggle world.
The Dementors circled above him, not trying to attack, and then a cold, emotionless voice rang out in Voldemort's head again:
"We will not interfere, Dark Lord. These are your human affairs, and we are indifferent to them. We are willing to participate in your war if there are worthy goals. But know that you are not the only one who is so powerful, and you will have to fight for power.
The flock rose sharply and began circling over Azkaban again.
"Not alone?" Voldemort sneered contemptuously. "They too believe that Potter is capable of defeating me, me? How amusing... I will gut the boy with my own hands, right here at the walls of Hogwarts, in full view of all my servants."
Hearing the terrible crash, the prisoners immediately jumped up from their bunks and pressed themselves as tightly as possible against the bars. Something was happening in the prison; even the constant pressure of the Dementors' magic seemed to have subsided. Suddenly, Bellatrix shuddered and stared madly at some point. Her bitten lips trembled, and she exhaled as if in ecstasy:
"He's here! I can feel him. I can feel my lord again!" And she let out a shrill scream that turned into an ultrasonic sound.
Everyone else also began to murmur, feeling a faint burning sensation in their markings, while Rukwood and Dolohov exchanged apprehensive glances.
"We must hide everything we thought about while living without his power," Antonin whispered, and after quickly informing the others of the problem, the magi sat down on the stone floor, plunging into the depths of their minds. The mark would still force them to obey orders, but if Voldemort found out that some of the Death Eaters had gone to Azkaban voluntarily to avoid draining their auras to restore their master, no one would get away with a simple Cruciatus curse. The Lord would surely torture everyone to death if he found out about this betrayal.
Only the Lestranges were genuinely happy about their imminent release, hugging each other and shouting curses at all the mudbloods. Bellatrix laughed madly, frantically shaking the bars, while Rabastan and Rudolphus shouted the names of Mordred and Morgana, glorifying Voldemort.
Quick footsteps could be heard in the corridor, followed by figures in silver masks. The bars immediately began to break off their hinges, and the Death Eaters handed the prisoners portals that transported them to the foot of the fortress. Both Carrows, Lestrange, Travers, Juggins and Malfoy had already disappeared in a flash of light.
"Who are you?" croaked a surprised Devourer in a silver mask, approaching the next cell. On a straw mat on the stone floor sat a bedraggled red-haired wizard of Irish descent, watching the events unfold with fear.
"Ah, this is our friend, John Vitti, former warden of Azkaban. He used to serve us as a guard, but then he went mad and killed two of his comrades right in the dining hall," Dolohov laughed mockingly, grinning happily through the bars. "That's why his superiors quietly locked him up here with us.
"Avada Kedavra," the Devourer said indifferently, and Witty's body fell silently to one side.
"Step aside, Anthony, I'm going to tear out your bars," Dolokhov and Rukwood moved away from the wall, and the man in the silver mask waved his wand, knocking the bars out of the wall with a flourish.
Walden Macneir, for it was he, immediately handed a piece of rope to each of the Devourers.
"Grab it, quickly, come on... The lord is gathering everyone.
Ten minutes later, when all the attackers had gathered below, the old guard standing in a separate group and the crowd of new acolytes who had joined the mages who had attacked the prison, Voldemort put his wand to his throat and said quietly, "Sonorus."
Now his voice boomed through the walls of the ancient prison.
"My loyal servants, my comrades. Today we have freed our brothers from captivity. The army of pure-blood wizards has now grown, and soon we will be ready to take power throughout magical England.
The Devourers responded with a united roar, and Voldemort raised his head and let out a long cry, releasing a rotten green beam from his wand: "Morsmordre..." — and a terrible snake, emerging from a skull with glowing eye sockets, grew larger and larger as it soared into the sky. A fresh smell of graves wafted over everyone, overpowering the scent of the sea and seaweed, after which the Death Eaters began to disappear one by one in a flash of portals.
***
Draco and Narcissa stood near the funeral pyre, the woman repeatedly dabbing her wet eyes with a batiste handkerchief, while her son clutched the lord's ring in his hand so tightly it hurt. The flames had almost died down, and his father's body scattered into silver stars in the sky.
Narcissa, barely alive with grief, and Draco, white as a sheet, stared silently at the burning ashes.
"Cassius never came," whispered Narcissa, her eyes fixed on the fire.
"He asked me to stay with you, but he had some important business to attend to," said the son sadly.
"What could be more important than seeing your father off on his last journey?" Narcissa asked, shrinking back in hurt.
"I don't know, Mum," Draco replied quietly. "You know Cassius, he never says anything directly. Always secrets and half-truths.
"He's your brother and he loves you," Narcissa hugged her son. "He's just trying to protect you from everything.
"Let's go inside, Mum," Draco sighed. "We have to leave for England. Cassius has sealed Malfoy Manor with a Fidelius spell and asked us not to go anywhere until he returns."
Mother and son scattered the remaining ashes over the sea, sealed the estate in a spatial lacuna, and used the portal to return to Wiltshire.
***
Draco sat thoughtlessly in his father's chair, looking around the study and the mountains of papers in confusion. The future Lord Malfoy did not like dealing with finances, unlike his father, who took great pleasure in it. Draco liked being a healer; he had a burning desire to help wizards, rid them of curses, and save them from death. Malfoy took the best from his parents and now simply did not want to be involved in the family business. But he would have to if his brother did not agree to take on this burden.
Cassius changed more and more every year, acquiring the harsh features of a true dark wizard. It was clear that very little aroused sincere feelings in his eternally cold brother. He often acted like a soulless artefact, rationally solving the tasks at hand and paying no attention to the feelings of those around him. Sometimes Draco even shuddered when he noticed the otherworldly glint of dark power in his brother's eyes. They had been holed up in the estate with their mother for two weeks now, and Cassius had not shown up once, probably busy with something that would help avenge their father. His mother told him about Voldemort's demand that he appear at Parkinson Manor within a week and accept the mark, but Draco decided that he would never do so willingly.
***
A tall, fair-haired wizard, looking very much like a Viking, entered the Gorbyn and Burks shop. He lazily scanned the supposedly "dark magic" items on display, then turned to the counter, where another salesman was now standing. There stood a young man who was eyeing the visitor with some amusement.
"What are you staring at?" Torfin Raleigh snapped. "Where's that old bastard Gorbyn?"
"Now, now, don't be so rude, Mr. Rowley," the young upstart smiled serenely. "Mr. Gorbyn gave me his place so that he could meet you. He told me in advance that you would be visiting this wonderful shop today.
Torfin immediately grabbed his cane to utter some curse, but realised with horror that he no longer had a mouth. Feeling frantically at his completely normal skin, he tried to mumble something, staring in horror at his companion, who was still smiling at him.
"Not working, Mr Rowley?" the salesman asked sympathetically, stepping out from behind the counter. The devourer backed away, trying not to lose sight of the tall young man, but almost immediately stumbled into the door, pressing his whole body against it. "We have a little trip to take, now, don't be afraid," the darkness instantly flooded the salesman's eyes, making them look like holes in Tartarus.
With a trembling hand, Torfin frantically tried to find the door handle, when the young man, still smiling, took a quick step forward, and consciousness immediately left the Devourer, and the shop emptied. On the second floor, old Gorbyn downed a glass of the strongest firewhisky in one gulp. "Save us, Merlin, from such visitors..."
Looking at the piece of raw meat left over from Rowley, Cassius frowned in confusion. Grabbing the Devourer, he simply planned to see the layout of Parkinson Manor in his memory and get at least some information about its defences. To see what Voldemort had been reborn as, how his servants treated him. With the ability to remove the mark, he considered pulling some of the purebloods over to his side. Nott and his son, along with their vassals and families, immediately mothballed their estates and fled to Australia, where they could hide among the local wizards. Moreover, they had no markings that could serve as a beacon. The only problem was that they would still have to return in the autumn to send their children to Hogwarts.
Cassius looked again at the Death Eater's memory at the moment when he was repairing some stupid artefact belonging to the red-haired Weasley:
"...drive the Malfoys out of their estates in Saint-Cyr on the Côte d'Azur, force the goblins to work for us..." The same phrase repeated itself over and over.
"So that's how the Death Eaters found our family in France," Cassius immediately boiled over. "Some fat pig blabbed to his secretary, who blabbed to her lover, who told the Death Eater. Who could have guessed that such a coincidence was even possible? Those Weasleys again!"
Leaving what was left of the Death Eater, who could now only wheeze as he slowly lost the last of his blood, to die in the basement of 12 Grimmauld Place, Cassius thoughtfully made his way to the dining room, wiping his bloodstained hands as he went.
"Kreacher!" he called loudly to the house elf. Looking extremely pleased, the old elf respectfully accepted the bloodstained handkerchief and gazed lovingly at his young master.
"What is it, Master Black?" squeaked the house elf, suppressing the sweet anticipation of future bloody sacrifices.
"What's left of it," the mage nodded towards the basement, "throw it neatly into the cesspool. Let it slowly drown in shit.
***
Arthur decided to take a walk down Diagon Alley and buy some sweets to take home. To make his wife happy. After the death of their older children, their relationship had cooled noticeably. Molly blamed him and Dumbledore for the death of their older children. She didn't show it, of course, but the man saw it in her nervous movements, in the way she glanced at him when she thought he wasn't looking, that sticky feeling of discontent and bitterness. In short, today he was hoping to talk to her, to tell her that nothing could be changed and that they just had to move on. After buying a decent-looking cake, Arthur transported himself through the fireplace to the Burrow and shouted happily,
"Darling, come down, I brought something sweet for tea!"
His disheartened wife came down from the second floor, where she had been tidying up after the children. Now the permanently empty rooms of the older children brought her mood down even further. Sitting down opposite her cheerful husband, she wearily picked up her teacup. Arthur began to talk about his work, how they had brought in another Muggle trinket that day, when Molly looked at him seriously and put her cup down on the table.
"Arthur. Our children, George and Fred, intend to leave the Weasley family and become Prewetts.
"Is it Muriel again?" hissed Arthur. "That old hag trying to convince you of her nonsense again? I hate your pure-blood nonsense. We've lived perfectly well without all those mouldy rules. Pure blood, family altars," he mimicked someone, "they're all relics of the Dark Ages! Only by uniting with the Muggles can we have a better future," Weasley said enthusiastically. "Sooner or later, we'll have to reveal ourselves to the Muggles, and then there will be a golden age for all wizards, and these pure-blood snobs will be left behind.
Molly looked at her heated husband with some disgust. He was speaking as if from a podium, listening to no one but himself, not noticing how her bright eyes were growing dimmer and dimmer. No, she still loved him and was ready to follow him to the end, but her mother's heart wanted a better life for her children, and she couldn't accept that Arthur was trying to keep them close to him all the time, despite the unknown danger that threatened them all. Especially since Aunt Muriel had promised to invest financially in their dream and give them gold to open a shop. And, to be honest, Molly herself was not indifferent to the fate of the Prewett family. It would be nice to know that one of her children would become the successor to the dynasty of fire mages.
"So no joining the Prewett family. They're Weasleys, and that's final," Arthur spat. "I'm the head of this family, and that's my last word.
He slammed his fist on the table, grabbed his robe and muttered, "The Leaky Cauldron," before disappearing into the flames.
As usual, The Leaky Cauldron was crowded. An angry Arthur nearly tumbled out of the fireplace to the laughter of the regulars and, without looking at the bartender who was trying to suppress a smile, demanded, "
"A glass of the strongest firewhisky, Tom!"
The bartender, who had been calmly washing dishes, immediately put them aside and quickly grabbed a glass that was already sparkling in the light of the magic lamps, took a stick and summoned a large, half-empty bottle from the display case. Filling the glass to the brim, he deftly pushed it towards Arthur. Arthur threw a coin on the table and demanded more and more, only after the third glass did he manage to calm his frayed nerves a little.
Glancing distractedly around the room, he suddenly felt an irresistible urge to relieve himself and got up, heading for some reason to the courtyard, to a corner with a passage to the magical world. With a malice worthy of a better cause, he did his business right on the wall with the passage to the magical world and turned back with a smirk when he came nose to nose with a figure in a black hood.
Gasping in surprise, the red-haired man didn't have time to say anything before he was grabbed by the collar by a strong hand and both magicians immediately disappeared in a puff of smoke. While still in flight, Arthur tried to wriggle out of the strong grip, resulting in his face being smashed into the stone floor. Cursing, he spat out bloody foam mixed with bits of broken teeth and tried to say something, but immediately received a sharp kick to the face. Flying back against the wall, Arthur frantically tried to reach his wand with his bloodied hand, but a cold voice immediately bound him with "Incarcerate," and then magic lifted the wizard's body and slammed it with full force onto an iron stool bolted to the floor.
Cassius looked thoughtfully at this representative of the Weasley family, who had indirectly caused his father's death, and cold hatred boiled inside him: "How did this spineless slug manage to betray the Malfoy family like this? Perhaps it really is the magic of a curse — bringing them together again and again, forcing them to decide once and for all who will live and who will die?"
"Legilimens," Cassius exhaled decisively, quickly scanning the life of this nobody. Arthur had no defences in his mind, and the only dark spot that had to be broken, depriving the redhead of his mind, turned out to be a family secret that they used to win wives from other pure-blood families. That was how Arthur himself had married Molly Prewett, thereby cursing his wife's family for breaking a long-standing agreement to marry their youngest daughter. Thus, Septimus Weasley, Arthur's father, seduced Cedella Black, becoming related to the kings of the wizarding world and forcing his beloved daughter to be burned out of the family tapestry.
The entire known history of the Weasley family was filled with such despicable "deeds." The merciless potion firmly bound the victim to the aura of their partner, and only the death of the poisoner could break the bond. But the power of this magic was so great that the victim was willing to stand under the Avada curse themselves, just to prevent the death of their "love."
Cassius spat contemptuously, remembering how Arthur's children all knew about this potion and used it on their friends without even thinking that it might be wrong. And not one of them, not one, may the basilisk devour them, not even Arthur's beloved daughter Ginevra, ever thought to tell their mother about this family tradition. Everyone continued to smile and poison their future spouses, no matter what.
So Cassius learned that even the national hero was strongly attached to the red-haired family. Only a minor beaver, whom his younger brother had taken a liking to, had luckily escaped this bond, and even then, a year had already passed, and the protection of the ritual had ended. If she had not learned to detect foreign additives in food, then it was to be expected that the usual story of this family would repeat itself.
Lowering the body of the red-haired family head onto the altar stone, Cassius immobilised the man and brought him to consciousness. Since the ritual was not performed by the head of the family, but only by his son, Cassius had to go a long way to convince the altar to accept this sacrifice. Finally, tired of reading the tedious quatrains with requests for magic, Cassius opened the source completely and struck the stone with a stream of dark energy. A piercing scream rang out, and Arthur began to melt like a candle under the influence of "inferno flamia." A few seconds later, there was nothing but ash on the stone, and a cool wave with the taste of lime and menthol swept through the source.
"Ugh," Cassius grimaced involuntarily, tasting the acid on his tongue. "Well, that's the last one...
Now that its source was somewhat freer from the curse, Black decided he could perform the majestic ritual that Chibuzo Inu had once shown him.
***
Before Cassius's mind's eye flashed the day when they talked to their teacher about the immortality of magicians.
"Crestrazzi, phylacteries, enchanted portraits — these are all crutches invented by wizards who shy away from huge sacrifices or are unable to connect to natural sources of magic. Remember that dead city in the desert where you shed your first enemy blood and learned how important sacrifices are for a true wizard?"
Cassius nodded intently, watching his teacher with burning eyes.
"So," continued Chibuzo, baring his even white teeth in a grin, "all the inhabitants of that city and the Roman legionaries who were stationed there were once sacrificed by a humble black magician in order to resurrect his teacher. The old Atlantean got carried away with his experiments and miscalculated his strength, so I had to resurrect him. Cassius calculated the dates of this catastrophe and stared at his teacher in amazement.
"Don't ask about that," Chibuzo Inu cheerfully interrupted the unasked question. "It's bad luck," he snorted. "You can figure out the dates yourself if you want. Each of us takes an oath of magic with our personal students," he continued seriously, "so that in the event of the death of their mentor, they will perform a ritual and bring the soul back.
Cassius nodded in amazement and listened intently.
"Of course, it is possible to resurrect loved ones, but this requires too many conditions: first, you need to prepare a soul cast; second, you need to keep the blood of your loved one, and it must be renewed regularly, otherwise the wizard close to you may be resurrected at an age other than the one they were used to. And thirdly, the magician has to sacrifice a piece of his own body. Of course, it can be regrown over time, we're not Muggles after all, but you have to admit that it's not pleasant. But that's not all," Chibuzo grinned maliciously. "The main thing is that such a ritual requires a huge amount of magical energy or the magic of a sacrifice. There aren't many sources on Earth capable of such a thing. If there isn't enough magic, the ritual can easily suck the life out of the earth itself. Why do you think there are so many deserts in Africa?" The dark mage cheered up again. "Experiments by the great wizards of the past. That's why," Chibuzo smiled sadly at Inu, "sometimes it's worth letting your loved ones go. They will be reborn, perhaps with a better fate than before. To exist in this world for centuries on end, without a great goal, without a desire for development, without an unquenchable thirst to reach the limits of one's abilities and go beyond them... It's easier to embark on a new journey, because death is not the end...
***
A pre-made copy of his father's soul, a contract with Baron Samedi, and blood given willingly allowed Cassius to not fear for the lives of his loved ones. Deciding not to tell them anything right away, he certainly condemned them to suffering, but he was much more afraid of seeing disappointment in the eyes of his loved ones if he ultimately failed. There is nothing worse than shattered hopes.
Cassius moved to Hogwarts from the side of the forbidden forest and jumped onto a broomstick. Flying into the dungeon, Cassius lit the magical lamps with a wave of his hand, and with them, a neon ritual circle flashed brightly. Standing in the middle, Cassius closed his eyes and began to read an appeal to the spirit world in a monotonous, harsh voice. The source of the castle hummed warningly when something huge and unknown peered through the crack between the worlds in the dungeon deep beneath Hogwarts...
Straining with all his might, Cassius held back the roaring magical flow and continued to steadily increase the power of the ritual. Gradually, a tall marble sarcophagus filled with a blood-red liquid formed in the pentagram. Cassius first lowered his father's rag doll into it, poured the vial of his blood into it, and threw the severed phalanx of his index finger in as well. Wincing in pain, he traced ancient symbols around the perimeter of the sarcophagus with the bleeding stump, raised his hands, absorbed all the power of the source, and roared the final quatrain at the top of his voice.
There was a loud crash...
Black streams of energy swirled around, the statue of the founder sparkled with protection, and behind it, in the farthest corner of the nest, the frightened basilisk curled up into a ball. The noise was so loud that it seemed as if Hogwarts was about to collapse into the depths of hell, but the protection of the founders — the great wizards of the past — held firm, and not a single grain of the raging energy escaped from the dungeons.
Finally, the riot of magic began to subside, and Cassius was able to open his eyes. Blood flowed down his face, his veins burst, and his whole body ached as if a dromarog had run over it. Above his right eyebrow, closer to his temple, a black tattoo appeared, a sign of a servant of the dark magic of Atlantis.
"A-ha-ha-ha-ha," a furious, victorious laugh broke the silence of the dungeon. "I did it. Morgana will love you all, I did it!"
The jaw of the statue of the founder dropped silently, and a basilisk cautiously emerged from the dark gaping mouth, suspiciously testing the air with its tongue.
"Are you finished, talker? Will you stop trying to destroy the school?" hissed the ancient monster, hiding the fear that made every scale tremble.
"No," replied Cassius, sitting down wearily on the edge of the sarcophagus. "Now we just need time. He will soon appear in the picture of our world. Magic has formed the body, and the great Loa has returned the soul from the circle of rebirth. All that remains is to wait for my father to regain consciousness. The teacher showed me this great ritual and explained how costly it was in terms of magic, but I didn't think it would be so grand. The Egyptian magicians who wanted to live forever built entire pyramids that drew energy from all the fertile land and their subjects, but we all know how that ended. That's why we can only perform it at a place like Hogwarts, and even then not too often," Cassius looked around doubtfully at the hall, which was shining as if it had been washed. "But you've cleaned up pretty well here..."
The huge basilisk slapped itself on the face with its tail and rolled its eyes.
"Thank you, talker, but please don't clean up like that again," the ancient monster shuddered. "My tail is still shaking. Even Salazar only did that once when he tried to bring back his whole family, but he couldn't and disappeared.
The snake curled up neatly into a ring and looked at the magician. Cassius conjured up a bed right next to the basilisk and fell onto it wearily.
"Watch over me while I rest, please. I'm completely exhausted," Black said through his sleep and passed out.
The basilisk sighed heavily, but curled up into a ring around the bed and froze, controlling every movement of the air.
***
"Wake up, Lucius... Wake up... Lucius..." Narcissa stood before him in a summer dress, a slight smile lighting up her young face.
"Argh-h-h," Lucius opened his eyes with a long, hoarse cry, emerged from some kind of viscous liquid and sat up, splashing it over the edges of the marble sarcophagus. In the pitch darkness, nothing was visible, but with the magical sense that was gradually awakening in him, Malfoy sensed that he was deep underground, next to a majestic magical source and someone alive.
"Shhh-sh-sh-sh," a menacing hiss suddenly sounded in front of him, and then two huge yellow eyes, cut by vertical pupils, flashed in the darkness. In an instant, Lucius sank back under the water like a stone.
"I must tell the speaker that his father has awakened," thought the huge basilisk, laying its horned head back on its scaly rings. "When he comes to."