The weight of the air grew heavier with each passing second. The energy accumulated over generations by the Black family was beginning to materialize. The very atmosphere warped, literally shaping a space apart from the world, a place where even the dead of the lineage could appear… and where only those of blood had the right to dwell.
Even though I was the one who had initiated the ritual, I could feel how that place tried to cast me out for not belonging to the family. I could consider myself Tonks' or Andromeda's husband, but they had both been officially disowned, so my standing there was nonexistent. Of course, it wouldn't be that easy to get rid of me.
I released my power once more, this time without worrying about being discovered. After all, what was forming here was a space detached from the mortal world. When I unleash all my power, I cease to be something bound to that plane, and what might expel a common wizard does not work on me. Still, I had to keep a degree of focus to avoid being pulled out… but that didn't stop me from helping Andromeda, especially now, when the first responses were beginning to arrive.
Andromeda's forehead was beaded with sweat, her fists clenched tightly. The first responses were not kind: each rejection felt like an electric hammer strike to her mind, trying to break her down. The refusal of Narcissa and Bellatrix caused her such sharp pain that she let out a scream she couldn't contain… but, luckily, Sirius' approval soon followed, like a stream of cold water soothing a burn.
Sirius was the current head of the family, and his vote carried more weight than any other, let alone those of members married into other houses. Andromeda felt immense relief; that support would give her enough strength to endure, even if more rejections followed.
Other votes trickled in, most of little importance, negative but irrelevant thanks to Sirius' verdict. They came from distant branches, nearly forgotten, and from women who had married into other families. People who, although they heard the call, likely would not come or would not know how to reach the place.
Those who did know how to reach it were the dead. They appeared directly inside the house. The aura of the dead—the same I had already felt with Helena and in the manor's graveyard—intensified, and spectral figures began to materialize, faint but visible.
Andromeda opened her eyes as she felt many gazes upon her. She was startled to recognize some faces: illusory figures she had seen as a child, relatives who had died years ago. Not all of the family's dead were present; as I've said, those who had transcended could not come, so most were recent souls.
Many of those spirits, barely formed, observed her with curiosity. The call had explained the situation to them as well: Andromeda sought to claim leadership now that no one else was able to do so. Most of those souls were old traditionalists who, for one reason or another, would not accept her claim… and they lunged at her like specters from the abyss.
My presence was ignored by the most impatient and foolish… until they noticed me. A red, ethereal tentacle lashed out at the souls, scattering the weaker ones. I stepped in front of Andromeda, holding my wand firmly, ready to perform an exorcism.
The laugh of the jarjacha rang throughout the room, making everyone, not just me, uneasy. That wicked wand was an excellent weapon to strike at mind and soul; combined with the deathly power that dwelled within me, those souls were doomed. Each time one tried to approach, a precise slash, a brutal blow, or a devastating bolt cut it down. I, a stranger who in theory shouldn't even be able to stand within this ancient family ritual, was now manipulating its outcome… with a smile on my lips.
But, of course, not everything was so simple. The number of souls present would only increase with time, and even if I managed to prevent them from directly attacking Andromeda, each vote against her pressed down on her with unbearable weight. We needed more votes in her favor… and Walburga, the true one, had yet to arrive.
Fortunately, the temperamental wand was being very cooperative. Although it could not unleash its full power without its twin, it was proving to be of great help. It almost seemed excited at the idea of me bedding both mother and daughter—or so I assumed—and I couldn't care less.
…
Outside the mansion, Lucius and Narcissa Apparated onto the street, bringing Draco with them. They had tried to use the Floo Powder to access the house, but I had already disabled the internal fireplaces, so the only possible entrance was the front door.
Their faces made it clear they were not calm; they seemed tense, even anxious. Both understood the importance of what was happening and the urgency of intervening. Draco, infected by his parents' tension, grasped that this was no mere family affair.
They ran to where Number Twelve Grimmauld Place should have stood… but found nothing. They circled the Muggle streets several times, drawing the attention of passersby with their conspicuous robes, but they didn't care.
Soon they realized something was wrong. Narcissa knew well the spell that hid the Black house's entrance, but this… this resembled a Fidelius Charm in its complexity.
"What is happening?" Lucius growled, visibly annoyed and frustrated.
"I don't know… we should already be there. I can feel the call, but I can't find the door," Narcissa replied, frowning.
At that moment, several wizards appeared around them. They were, so to speak, Malfoy family enforcers. Lucius did not risk assuming all this was merely Andromeda's doing; he preferred to believe there was more behind it, and for that reason, he had called in reinforcements,
Although they had drawn much attention, a few had already broken away to deal with the Muggles nearby, while the rest continued searching. Lucius also dispatched men to ensure the Ministry ignored what they were doing there. Of course, that would only be temporary; he assumed their movements had already attracted the notice of certain individuals, and he needed to act swiftly. He did not want anyone else interfering in this dispute over the Black inheritance.
After some time, they finally managed to shatter the illusion I had cast—only to find a thick fog enveloping the surroundings, so dense that some of the thugs became lost within it. Seeing so many countermeasures only heightened Lucius' unease.
…
Inside the house, I was fully aware of all this: those protections were of my own making. In fact, the reason I prolonged my conversation with Walburga was precisely to finish them… and, incidentally, to irritate her for a while. Even though I hadn't had much time to weave them, they would not be easily undone, for I had used the methods I had obtained in Morgana's campaign: the enchantments of Avalon. As I've said before, they were not designed for combat, but their applications were exceedingly valuable in a moment like this.
We only had to endure an hour from the start of the ritual, and already half that time had passed. Yet the ghosts were now far more powerful and tangible, which made my task increasingly difficult. Even with Sirius' initial support, the number of negative votes was such that we were at a disadvantage. It was not that I was losing, but I lacked the strength to banish them all at once, and from time to time Andromeda felt the pressure.
The accumulation of opposition grew so overwhelming that she sank down on one knee, feeling the crushing weight of it. She could not give in. Even if the refusals vastly outnumbered the approvals, as long as she remained conscious and resolute, she would win once the hour was fulfilled—proving her strength and her worth to lead the family. Knowing this, Andromeda clenched her teeth, letting even a trickle of blood slip from her lips, and pressed on. In truth, she did not care much for the title itself… but she knew that I desired it, and she was drawing the willpower to continue from her love for me.
It was at that moment that Walburga's portrait began to distort. The woman within the painting displayed an expression of unease and pain as a ghostly visage slowly overlaid itself upon the canvas. It was as though a spirit were merging with the painting, and the process unfolded in a slow and disturbing manner.
At the same time, a spirit appeared in the hall. It did not look at Andromeda, nor did it show intent to attack her; instead, it moved directly toward Kreacher, who trembled in a corner under the pressure saturating the chamber. The elf had come to witness everything, excited to see so many former masters gathered, but, as a house-elf, he had no right to intervene… or at least that was so until the spirit approached him.
"Master?!" gasped Kreacher, his voice breaking as he recognized the one he had always mourned.
"Kreacher… did you do as I asked?" inquired the spirit of Regulus.
"Regulus…" murmured Walburga's portrait, which now seemed altered—more solemn, more alive, as though the painting itself had reclaimed its soul.
Walburga had absorbed the memories of her painted version, much as other spirits were beginning to do, and thus was not entirely disoriented. For the moment, she chose to ignore what had summoned her back into the world of the living, watching in silence as her son spoke to the elf. The spirits there remembered little of their existence after death; the only clear memories in their minds were of their days in life, their death… and the call that had brought them.
"Forgive me… forgive me, my lord… Kreacher is worthless… I could not fulfill your last command," sobbed the elf, weeping rivers of tears as he struck his head against the floor in true anguish.
"Regulus!" I shouted at the spirit as I continued to repel the ghosts surrounding us, drawing his gaze toward me. "Accept Andromeda as head of the family, and I will see to the destruction of Voldemort's horcrux. Moreover, we will grant Kreacher the good life he deserves," I offered, my voice firm and tempting, like that of a demon brokering a pact.
Regulus regarded me, watching as I fought on without pause, striking down one specter after another, while his elf continued to punish himself for his supposed failure.
"Well done, Kreacher. You fulfilled your duty… now live a good life," he said, smiling at him with peace and sincere affection.
Kreacher gazed upon his master one last time before the latter became a cloud of whitish plasma that drifted toward Andromeda—distinct from the dull, gray masses that comprised the other ghosts.
Regulus' cloud seemed to revitalize her. More than that: he began to fight at her side, defending her against the specters. Though they outnumbered him greatly and struck him down again and again, he always rose to stand between them and her, adding another layer of protection to Andromeda.
Kreacher wept once more, but this time he stood tall and snapped his fingers, hurling magic against the ghosts. His attacks had little real effect, but he was determined to aid them.
"Traitorous elf!" a spirit roared with venom, seeing that a servant of the Blacks dared rise against him, even if the blow had been feeble. "How dare you strike your master?"
"I have only one master!" Kreacher retorted, feeling the searing agony of interfering as a mere servant—a burning pain that consumed him from within—but he did not falter.