The infant lifted his head to stare at the ceiling, the wrinkles on his tiny face betraying no clear expression.
Bellatrix was nearly in tears.
This felt like a last will, a final confession—her heart ached, not just for her Master, but for something deeper and more complicated that she couldn't quite name.
"Yes, Master," she murmured, bowing low.
"If the traitor isn't Severus…" the infant's tone softened, "then leave immediately. I had you prepare a Portkey long ago. You know where it is. Is it ready?"
"Master, we can leave together," Bellatrix said anxiously.
"No," the infant said firmly. "This memory is more important than this current life of mine."
"Protect it."
"Otherwise, I will never overcome Potter."
"It's a beautiful memory."
Bellatrix bowed lower. "Yes, Master."
The infant looked toward the door, sensing approaching footsteps and surging magic. "Crouch?"
"Your godson is following your orders—he's not here right now," Bellatrix replied softly.
The infant was silent a moment. "If you get the chance, warn him—be careful."
"He must not access this memory. But tell him:"
"That white-haired man, Geralt, is Harry—but without magic. He only uses a few sign spells."
"That woman, Yennefer, is at least as powerful as Severus. She wields many strange magics—not like ours. Understand? Different."
Bellatrix's heart sank.
As powerful as Snape—at least?
"And both are sharp," the infant went on. "Battle-hardened, true warriors. My dear Bella, only Dumbledore, Potter, and I can match them in experience."
Knock knock—
The door was ajar, but the man outside bowed deeply, not daring to step in or even lift his head.
"Rodolphus, my dear, come in," Voldemort's voice rose just slightly.
The man entered and knelt at the bedside. "Master."
"I need a body now," the infant said weakly. "A vessel to hold my soul."
Rodolphus paled, glancing up at the grotesque infant. "Master, I—"
Bellatrix didn't hesitate. Her voice burned with fanatic devotion. "You should feel honored. The great Master is claiming your pitiful body."
Even though this man was, in name, her husband.
Rodolphus staggered backward, panicked.
Bellatrix flicked her wand.
Transfiguration—his legs were bound. He crashed to the floor.
He trembled, fumbling for his wand.
"Expelliarmus!"
Bellatrix disarmed him, then waved again, levitating him gently onto the bed. "My dearest Master."
The infant said nothing.
Black mist glowed from his features. A thread of it stretched out, connecting to Rodolphus's body. The man screamed in pain and despair, looking up at the woman he had once believed would share his life and goals.
Now, she stared at the shriveled infant with rabid devotion and joy.
His struggles grew desperate.
Downstairs.
In the parlor, a few Death Eaters murmured among themselves.
They didn't know Voldemort's precise orders. Like Lucius, they were not fully informed. Truthfully, only Bellatrix, Crouch, Snape—and Thicknesse—knew the full picture.
Still, they were slightly more trusted than Lucius.
Meanwhile...
Narcissa hid in a small room, watching and listening...
Dumbledore and Potter were outside.
The Dark Lord had been planning something—but their arrival probably meant it had failed.
The Fidelius Charm protected this place. They couldn't get in.
The Fidelius...
Narcissa clenched her fists and took a deep breath.
Malfoy Manor, unlike 12 Grimmauld Place, had never lost its legacy. It had always been protected by the ancient Fidelius Charm.
Lucius was the Secret-Keeper.
But a Fidelius could have multiple Keepers. Since Voldemort arrived, Bellatrix, Crouch, Snape, and Thicknesse had also become Secret-Keepers.
Not her.
As a woman and not a Death Eater, Voldemort didn't trust her.
She quietly returned to her room, opened a drawer, and pulled out a slip of parchment—Lucius Malfoy's signature, flamboyant handwriting, stating the Manor's address.
A Secret-Keeper's writing could reveal the secret.
She pocketed it and tiptoed out, unnoticed.
Lucius noticed her nearing the door and widened his eyes in shock and disbelief.
Outside Malfoy Manor.
"So we've found the enemy's lair, but we can't get in?" Yennefer said, extending her hand to feel the magical barriers.
"Not quite," Dumbledore replied. "There is a way."
"Do we contact him?" Harry muttered, lips tight.
Two Horcruxes remained missing.
The Sword of the Lake was with Geralt—it clearly wasn't a Horcrux.
Keeping Voldemort alive until Snape found the other two might be best. In his current state, Voldemort posed no threat.
But he'd learned something from Vivian, and he'd recorded Harry's fighting style. Despite knowing he'd lose, he'd gone into Avalon—not to kill Harry, but to learn, to analyze.
Clearly, he was preparing.
For Harry?
For the future?
The Horcruxes could wait—but Voldemort had to go.
Harry was silent for a while, then nodded. "Yes. Let's have Professor Snape—"
He didn't finish.
The air rippled before them. All four readied themselves.
A harmless woman stumbled out, breathless.
"Mrs. Malfoy?" Dumbledore said, surprised but gentle, though his wand remained raised.
"Dumbledore, Potter—Malfoy Manor. Here's the address." She pulled a parchment from her pocket.
Harry waved his wand.
The paper unfurled in his hand.
All four of them read the words.
The world shifted.
A manor cloaked in black fog suddenly materialized before them, towering and grim.
"How did you…" Dumbledore began.
A trap?
It didn't seem likely.
Voldemort had no forces strong enough to threaten both him and Harry—not with Yennefer and Geralt added to the mix.
"Draco… Please protect Draco," Narcissa wept. "The Dark Lord ordered his death. He's barely escaped, so many times."
Dumbledore nodded. "Protecting students is my duty as Headmaster."
Narcissa raised her head, hesitating, eyes filled with grief.
"Trust Malfoy," Harry said softly. "He's gotten really good at running."
George, Fred's bullying... Slytherin hazing...
Draco had plenty of experience escaping.
Narcissa's face crumpled further.
That's supposed to be a compliment?
Her pampered son had suffered far too much.
"And once Voldemort and the Death Eaters are gone, your son will be safe," Harry said, drawing his wand.
He pointed at the black mist.
Magic surged.
The mist shuddered, resisting—but bit by bit, it was torn open, revealing the long-abandoned manor behind.
Inside the Manor.
Now possessing Rodolphus, Voldemort sheathed his wand, placed the last silvery strand of memory into a bottle, and felt the vibration through the floor.
He handed the bottle to Bellatrix and walked to the window.
Through the glass, he saw them. "Potter. Dumbledore."
"Remarkable, Bella. You'll never guess who the traitor is."
"It's your sister. Narcissa."
Bellatrix froze. "Her? Impossible."
For the first time, she hesitated.
Then she dismissed it entirely, face twisting with hate. "Unbelievable. I thought she was like me—we're sisters."
"Master, I—"
Voldemort tapped her with his wand. "Send the memory. Then return."
She blinked.
He waved her off. "Narcissa knows you're always around. Potter is sharp. If he notices you're gone, he'll guess what I'm doing."
"My dear Bella."
"Are you ready to give everything to me?"
Bellatrix's voice turned tender—strangely soft toward Rodolphus's body. "Yes, Master. All I have belongs to you."
She rushed to a cabinet, grabbed a book.
A prepared Portkey.
In a flash, it tugged her away—vanishing.
Voldemort inhaled deeply, gripped his wand, and descended the stairs.
Main Hall.
Lucius stared at Narcissa, stunned. His rehearsed speech burst out: "Narcissa! You—you betrayed the Master?!"
The Death Eaters barely registered her—eyes still on the unfamiliar white-haired man and dark-haired woman.
Harry and Geralt exchanged a glance.
Both clearly thinking the same thing:
"This guy's performance is a bit too much."
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates