Fawkes's feathers, like a compass, guided Dumbledore through the darkness. After several apparitions to recalibrate his direction, the Headmaster followed the faint magical sense emanating from the feathers, traversing the desolate wilds of the English countryside.
Passing through the last dense thicket, a magnificent manor abruptly appeared in his view, like a slumbering beast crouched in the night. Unlike the deliberate ostentation of Malfoy Manor, with its white peacocks, the Lestrange family's stronghold exuded a gravitas built of centuries. Soaring Gothic spires pierced the brightening sky, and ancient ivy crawled across the dark stone walls. Above the main gate, the family crest—a raven with spread wings, clutching a wand in its talons, its ruby-inset eyes seemingly fixed upon uninvited guests—marked the estate. From this distinctive family emblem, Dumbledore recognised it as Lestrange Manor.
Powerful protective enchantments shrouded the manor. Dumbledore could feel the magical currents swirling in the air, like countless invisible cobwebs interwoven. His brilliant blue eyes narrowed slightly behind his half-moon spectacles as he carefully discerned the magical traces: crimson protective charms, violet warning spells, and several dark, unsettling black magic barriers.
By now, the sky was already tinged with the pale grey of dawn, the morning stars fading. The pre-dawn sky presented a sickly grey-blue hue. Dumbledore stood within the shadows of the trees at the manor's perimeter, swiftly flicking his wand and murmuring a complex incantation. His body began to turn transparent, blending with his surroundings, and Fawkes, too, vanished into his robes as a streak of red light.
He held the Elder Wand, cautiously approaching the great gate. It was tightly shut, with no sign of anyone entering or exiting. "Let me see—" Dumbledore murmured silently, gently caressing the cold surface of the gate with his fingertips, feeling the ancient magical vibrations emanating from it. Then, he spoke softly to the iron gate in a strange, ancient tongue. Finally, the gate actually trembled slightly, opening a narrow slit just wide enough for one person to pass through.
After he slipped sideways into the courtyard, the gate silently closed behind him.
The interior of the manor was even more sinister than its exterior. Dark red carpets covered the floors, and iron chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their candle flames flickering within glass globes, casting shifting shadows. A low murmur of voices drifted from the hall ahead, and Dumbledore glided silently towards the sound. As he drew closer, he identified three familiar voices: Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband Rodolphus, and his brother Rabastan.
Through the half-open carved wooden door, he saw them seated around a circular table made of obsidian, a few parchments and empty wine goblets scattered across its surface. Bellatrix's distinctive Black family black hair was dishevelled, and near the corner of her right eye, there was a fresh-looking wound. Though it no longer bled, its colour was still a vivid crimson.
"The master will not be pleased," Rodolphus's voice was low and cautious. "We are ten Muggles short of the original plan. If this continues—"
"Silence!" Bellatrix shrilled suddenly, cutting him off impatiently, tossing her thick black curls. "Many of those filthy creatures died along the way! They couldn't even withstand Portkey travel, vomiting and fainting like lumps of rotten meat—it's utterly nauseating!" Her voice trembled slightly, and her fingers caressed the wound on her face. "What are you trying to imply, Rodolphus? Do you think I wish to bring failure to the master?"
"Alright, stop arguing." Rabastan leaned against the fireplace, a mocking smile on his face. "I said it before, Muggles' physiques are ridiculously inferior, they can't even adapt to the most basic magical travel." Disgust contorted his lean face. "They're as fragile as insects; can the master truly rely on such useless creatures?"
Just then, a soft sound came from behind Dumbledore, followed by the dull thud of a heavy object hitting the floor. A Death Eater wearing a silver mask steadied himself, a Portkey in his hand, and appeared in the centre of the corridor with a group of unconscious Muggles. Dumbledore quietly retreated a few steps, hiding in the shadows of the corridor, watching the Death Eater roughly dragging the unconscious Muggles, bound by magical ropes, pass by him and enter the main hall. It was a middle-aged Muggle couple and their daughter. All three were deathly pale, their eyes tightly closed, and the little girl had traces of vomit at the corner of her mouth.
"Another group," the Death Eater reported gruffly to Bellatrix after entering the room. "This is my fourth batch today. Two more days and the master's demand will be met."
"Take them downstairs," Rodolphus waved his hand in disgust. "Remember, ensure they're alive, at least until we send them off. Don't let the bodies rot like last time."
The Death Eater hauled the unconscious Muggles, dragging them towards a narrow, dark passage on the other side of the hall. Dumbledore noticed that when one Muggle let out a faint groan, the Death Eater unhesitatingly cast another Stunning Spell.
Once the Death Eater's figure vanished down the passage, Bellatrix suddenly lowered her voice, her eyes gleaming with fanatical light: "Don't you understand? The master wants so many Muggles to create an army, an army of Inferi!" Her voice trembled with excitement, her fingers unconsciously twisting together.
"Inferi..." Rabastan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It certainly fits the master's style. Imagine, hundreds, thousands of undead creatures storming the Ministry of Magic! Even if they're individually somewhat weak, they'd be enough to brutally tear apart Ministry officials! That would usher in a new era for pure-blood wizards!"
"The Ministry of Magic?" Bellatrix interrupted him, a cruel smile on her face. "No, my dear brother, I would rather the master take Hogwarts first! That old mad Headmaster constantly opposes the master; he's truly annoying."
"And—" Her fingers gently touched the wound on her face again, a morbid hatred glinting in her eyes. "I have a lovely little friend still there." She snarled, "I hope to teach him a proper 'lesson' at Hogwarts before he graduates."
"A 'special tutoring' session every day," she chuckled again, "I want him to regret living to this age. Until he begs me to tear out his intestines and feed them to the Giant Squid, just to end his life—" Bellatrix's voice gradually dropped, becoming a chilling whisper. Rodolphus and Rabastan couldn't help but shrink back. They exchanged a look. Ever since Bellatrix returned with that scar after the failed attempt to cleanse the Black family traitor, she had occasionally unleashed unrestrained hatred. But she refused to tell them who had left that red mark on her face, and even the master had failed to remove it for her.
As the Lestranges continued to envision the glorious life once the master seized power, Dumbledore silently glided towards the other dark passage. Fawkes's feather warmed slightly in his pocket, continuing to guide his way.
The passage sloped downwards, becoming increasingly steep, eventually turning into a spiralling stone staircase. Dumbledore moved like a shadow, hugging the wall. As he brushed past the previous Death Eater, he caught the strong scent of blood and sweat emanating from him.
At the end of the stone staircase was a cold, damp dungeon, with torches thrust into the rough stone walls, their flames casting dancing shadows. Two masked Death Eaters stood in the centre of the dungeon, receiving the newly arrived Muggles. In the corner, seven or eight unconscious Muggles were already piled up, casually arranged like cargo, some even stacked on top of each other.
"This one's waking up," one Death Eater said, casting a Stunning Spell to subdue the twitching Muggle man. "Such a bother, why can't we just kill them? It would save us the trouble of constantly watching them."
"Because the master wants them alive," the other Death Eater, who seemed to be of a higher rank, coldly looked at him. "You just obey; do not question."
"I'm just curious why it's such a hassle," the first Death Eater shrugged. "Why not send all the Muggles to their destination at once, instead of transiting them here? And where exactly are they being sent?"
"Carolus," the senior Death Eater suddenly turned, his wand pointed directly at his companion's throat. "You are my second partner since I arrived here. Do you know where Sean Rivera went?"
"No—I—don't—know—" The Death Eater named Carolus was visibly nervous. "Hey, relax, Charles."
"Sean was just as curious as you," Charles's low voice hissed. "So, he followed a batch of Muggles." He paused. "And then? No one ever saw him again. The master said curiosity is a bad thing. So, I'm asking again, do you have any more questions?" He meaningfully twirled his wand.
"No, none," Carolus quickly shook his head, his eyes widening in terror behind his mask.
Dumbledore silently observed all this, already forming a plan in his mind. By now, the number of Muggles in the dungeon had reached over a dozen. The two Death Eaters began to roughly bind them together with a rusty iron chain. After ensuring their limbs were all in contact with each other, Charles took out an object wrapped in parchment from his robes, handling it cautiously as if it were dangerous. Tearing open the parchment, a battered tin tea caddy was revealed inside. Charles quickly shoved the tin caddy into the hand of one of the Muggles; the caddy began to emit a dazzling blue light.
The moment the Portkey activated, Dumbledore swiftly darted from the shadows, placing a hand lightly on the shoulder of the outermost Muggle. A hook pulled hard behind his navel; a sensation of spinning descended, and Dumbledore felt his long beard and hair wildly dance in the wind.
When his feet touched the ground again, Dumbledore suddenly moved with the agility of a young man. He quickly released his hand from the Muggle and dodged to the side. His wand was already in his hand, as he vigilantly scanned his surroundings. He immediately sensed the abnormality of this space, a peculiar feeling of restriction enveloping him. This place prohibited Apparition; even Fawkes's teleportation ability might be limited.
The stale air of the dungeon had vanished. Dumbledore found himself breathing fresh, salty air, like a sea breeze, yet with a hint of something decayed. The surrounding air was silent and cold, broken only by the Muggles' occasional moans echoing between the rock walls.
He stood by the shore of a black lake, its surface so vast that its edges were invisible. Looking up, the towering cavern ceiling vanished into darkness. Far in the distance, seemingly in the middle of the lake, a hazy, greenish light shimmered, reflecting in the still, dead water below. Besides that green light and an orange glow drifting towards him, the surroundings were impenetrable darkness.
As the distance closed, Dumbledore discerned it was the wandlight of a pale-faced wizard. The wizard was gaunt, his robes ragged, and he was trembling as he approached the rock wall, dragging unconscious Muggles towards the lake's edge. Dumbledore held his breath. He watched as the wizard dragged a Muggle to the water's edge, then pulled out a small silver knife engraved with runes from his robes. The blade glinted ominously in the green light.
"Inferi... need more blood—" the wizard mumbled. "The master needs more guardians—"
The moment he raised the knife, Dumbledore raised his wand behind him. The silver knife and the wand simultaneously flew from the wizard's hands, landing in Dumbledore's grasp. The wizard spun around in alarm, revealing a gaunt, unrecognisable face, his sunken eyes clouded with fear and confusion.
"Who is it?" he asked hoarsely, with a hint of expectation in his voice. "Has the master sent you to replace me? I have already—already completed thirty-seven."
"Perhaps that's a question you should answer," Dumbledore's form shimmered into visibility.
"Professor Dumbledore!" A flicker of surprise crossed the wizard's eyes. "Do you remember me? I'm Sean Rivera, Ravenclaw." His voice immediately dropped. "No, you shouldn't be here—no one can leave—no one—" He began to sob, blood oozing from his cracked lips.
"Sean," Dumbledore did not relax his guard, his wand still pointed at the man. "What are these Muggles being brought here to become Inferi for? What is your master planning?"
"It's their honour," Sean suddenly let out a hysterical laugh, pointing his hand towards the green light in the middle of the lake. "Look! They are all waiting for rebirth!"
Dumbledore followed his gaze; illuminated by the green light, pale, skeletal human figures seemed to be suspended beneath the calm surface of the lake.
Just then, a dazzlingly white archway outline appeared on the dark cavern wall. Dumbledore quickly turned. The white light dispersed, revealing a doorway. Voldemort's pale, serpentine face appeared in the darkness. In his hand, he held a struggling, blood-dripping wizard, his crimson eyes coldly fixed on Dumbledore.
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